


Spies, Lies, and the Darkness Inside

by TanyaReed



Category: Relic Hunter
Genre: Action/Adventure, Challenge Response, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 13:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11875374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TanyaReed/pseuds/TanyaReed
Summary: Sydney and Nigel chase the trail of a dangerous artifact to India. On the way, they meet someone they thought they'd never see again. Add Claudia to the mix, and things get just a little crazy...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story was my Nanowrimo 2007 effort. I only half typed up and edited it, and then I forgot about it. I just found the binder it's in, so I think I'm going to go ahead and post it. Since only half is typed up, it might take me awhile to get the whole thing posted, but I don't want to loose it again. 
> 
> The story came about because a young friend of mine (whose birthday actually is today, though I haven't spoken to her in years) asked me to write a story to fill in what she felt was a big blank left by the show. She wanted to know why, when Sydney and Derek ended amicably in “Transformations”, there was so much friction in “Legend of the Lost”. Why did Derek feel the need to kidnap Nigel instead of asking for help? Was the adventure mentioned really the one in “Transformations”? This story takes place between those two episodes and it attempts to answer her questions.

Richard Watson sat staring through beautifully stained glass, his eyes absently taking in the lush greenery beyond. The window, one of several artistically designed pieces, was the focal point of his elaborate white kitchen. It still amazed Richard that the glass had survived. In fact, he was surprised that anything in the villa had survived the recent violence it had been through.

Not so long before, this place had been cracked and broken—much like Richard felt himself sometimes. Painstakingly, he had cleaned up the debris and fixed what the rebels had left behind. They had tried to eradicate any trace of Arthur Stanton from the place, but Richard could still feel him in the walls and in the floor. If Stanton's blood had been used to make the mortar, his presence couldn't have been stronger.

Richard's eyes left the window to stare at the tiles beneath his feet, elegant tiles, colored mosaics arranged in patterns that showed their former owner's idea of beauty. He liked Stanton's style but wished even less of it had survived. That way, maybe he wouldn't feel like such an interloper. In his mind, he knew the place had been abandoned and, after it was looted, no one cared what happened to it. That didn't stop him from feeling like a thief.

He frowned and scuffed one foot over the tile. He was not supposed to care about things like right and wrong anymore. He was supposed to be just a tool. Someone had recently shown him how easily he had come to accept that and had opened his eyes to how much he had changed.

Thoughts of her wiped the frown from his face. He lifted his gaze to stare at the small cylinder sitting on his sideboard. He still didn't know what he was going to do with it, but she had been right. It was too dangerous to allow it to fall into the hands of any one government.

She had been right about a lot of things. As a matter of fact, that was the reason he had taken Stanton's villa for his own. 

A sudden soft creak floated to his ears in the stillness of the old villa. The house made many noises, and this one was so slight that it was almost unnoticeable. 

He was on his feet in an instant, moving across the room to take the scroll in his hand. He held it tightly for a moment before opening the cupboard above his head and shoving it inside. 

He was back in his seat, cool and unwinded, when the face appeared in the kitchen doorway. It was a young face, maybe thirty, and pretty despite its rather pointed chin and slightly larger than normal nose. Dark hair surrounded a tanned face and wide dark eyes. She looked like somebody's little sister.

“Hello,” Richard said easily. “I've been wondering when you'd come.”

“Hello, Derek,” she answered, coming in the rest of the way. She seated herself across from him, in the only other chair, without his asking.

He regarded her for a moment before saying, “My name is Richard Watson. Derek was my partner.”

“Richard Watson is dead.” When he didn't reply, she continued. “It's a shame. His mother and sisters were devastated.”

Anger bubbled up from his belly. “You told them I was dead?”

She frowned. “It would have been a good idea, but no.”

Richard's stomach had clenched, but it relaxed slightly at this. The one thing he feared about what he did for a living was not death; it was knowing how his death would affect his family. In his relief, he let his face fall into a mask and his voice harden.

“What do you want? Why have you come?”

“Why do you think I've come?”

Her mask was as good as his. Her eyes were like black pits, taking in the light and giving back nothing. Even though she was so young, Richard saw in her what he never wanted to see in himself.

“It's about my resignation, isn't it?”

“There is no resignation. We cannot accept resignations from dead men. And we certainly can't accept resignations from you. No one leaves the company. What happened to the scrolls?”

Richard blinked at the abrupt change in subject, but he kept his face expressionless.

“We didn't find the dark one, and the light one was lost.”

“We brought Turley in for questioning. We know you have the scrolls. If your plan is to use Stanton's lab and make use of...”

“I don't have the scrolls.”

Her face stilled even more. “You gave them to the relic hunter, didn't you?”

“Turley lied. We did not find the dark scroll. The other was lost. It was stolen by the rebels.”

She stared at him coolly for several moments. “If you're lying...”

“I'm not. All I want is an early retirement so I can stay here and fix the place up. I'm thinking I might be able to make a life here.” 

“Impossible. We own you. You're ours.”

A soft smile twitched the corner of Richard's lip. “Is that so?”

“Do you know what a man's greatest assets and his greatest weaknesses are?” Her eyes bored into his. “We do.”

Richard clenched both his hand and his teeth. He barely controlled the urge to lash out at the woman sitting so calmly across from him. Her message came through loud and clear.

“What do you want?”

“You are a good agent, Derek,” she raised a hand when he opened his mouth to speak, “and we're reluctant to lose you. We need you, and we want you. And we need and want you to be Derek Lloyd.”

“I...”

“You've been added to the Green List. You know what that means.”

Of course he did. It meant more dangerous and complicated missions. It meant a jump in both security and resources. Many agents lived for that jump and everything that came with it.

“Derek Lloyd has no family,” she continued. “Family is a weakness for a man on the Green List. It is a way for him to be blackmailed and manipulated. Derek Lloyd must live, so Richard Watson must die.”

He grinned a joyless grin, baring his teeth at her. “And you know how easily that weakness can be exploited, don't you?”

She didn't acknowledge this. Instead, she bent down to retrieve the case she had left resting against the table leg.

“Feel free to keep the house. You'll need somewhere to call home. For now, though, there's something we want you to take a look at.”

Watching his new dreams go up in smoke, Richard realized that he had always known they were just dreams. He pushed all thoughts of them aside as he reached for the folder the other agent was holding out to him.

He felt a slight pang as his fingers closed on it. Accepting it was accepting that Richard Watson was dead. He would never see him again, except maybe in brief visits home.

From now on, he had to be Derek Lloyd.


	2. Chapter 1

A Few Months Later...

“Sydney, did I really have to come with you?” Claudia asked as she looked around the hotel room, searching for a place to plug in the fax machine. “This has been the most boring trip in the history of taking them!”

Sydney opened her hands to drop two of Claudia's suitcases on the pale rug. They landed with a thump. One teetered dangerously, but they both stayed upright. Behind her, she heard the suitcases Nigel was carrying also fall to the rug.

“Of course you did. I need you to organize things.”

“Organization is a foreign word to Claudia,” Nigel commented, moving past Sydney to flop down on the bed.

“Oh, ha ha, Nigel. I am laughing so hard.” The tiny blond threw him a look filled with daggers.

“It's almost over,” Sydney assured her, trying to avoid a row. “In a few more days, we'll be back in the familiar surroundings of our office.”

“Thank God!”

Nigel propped himself up on his elbows. “There's been plenty to see, Claudia.”

“Yeah, like what? Beaver and moose?”

“We haven't seen one beaver or moose our whole trip. We have seen lots of culture. Do you know that this is where the Cajuns in Louisiana originated? And the Mi'kmaq tales of Gloosecap are amazing. The architecture of the churches we saw on our drive this morning were...”

“Oh, blah, blah, culture. Blah, blah, scenery. Where's the night life, Nigel? Where's the fun?”

Sydney, who had been listening with some amusement, asked, “What about the week we spent in Halifax? You couldn't remember your own name for two whole days.”

“One night of dancing does not make a party. Who wants to travel around the middle of nowhere, where all there is to look at are trees, fields, and the ocean?”

“Isn't it awful?” Nigel said sarcastically. “Yet, somehow, you've survived it.”

Claudia stuck out her tongue before turning her back on him to plug in the fax machine.

“I guess that means you don't want to come when we go see the oldest courthouse in Canada, huh?” Sydney moved forward to sit beside Nigel. She patted his knee affectionately, so he wiggled over a bit to give her more room.

“Ugh. Why don't you just poke out my eyes with forks?”

“Can we?”

Sydney tapped his knee a little harder. “Nigel!”

Claudia gave him another dangerous look. “You two go out and look at musty old records. I'll stay here and try not to die of boredom.”

“You might want to try the lounge. I saw some promising company as we were walking in.”

“Promising for you or promising for me?”

“Won't it be fun finding out?” Claudia shrugged so Sydney shook her head. “Come on, Nigel. Let's go get our stuff.”

They had a lot less bags than Claudia, and it only took them one trip to bring the rest of the bags up. They were staying in a large, grand old hotel in the middle of the small town, and each of them had opted for his or her own room. Sydney's and Nigel's rooms were across the hall from Claudia's, connected with a simple door that they would be leaving unlocked. They usually did this because it made late night relic conferences a lot easier.

By the time Sydney and Nigel got back up to the sixth floor, Claudia's mood seemed to have lightened. She had changed into a skimpy shirt and skirt, both pink, and there was almost a smile on her face.

“You're looking much happier,” Sydney commented, coming into the room.

“I was thinking of those possibilities you mentioned. As soon as I get everything organized for tomorrow, I might go down and have a look.”

“That's a great idea...if you're sure you don't want to come to the courthouse.”

“Snore.”

“Okay, then, Nigel and I are going to go. Have fun...but not too much.”

Claudia threw Sydney a wicked grin, but didn't say anything.

“That was a scary look,” Nigel commented as they headed out of the hotel and towards Sydney's rented Jeep.

“The local men won't know what hit them.”

The drive to the courthouse took about twenty minutes. First they manoeuvered through the small but busy town to get to a highway leading into a more rural part of the county. The highway was quiet and in some ill repair, and the drive was quite peaceful.

“You know,” Nigel said, “I would never tell Claudia this, but I'll be glad to get home too. I've enjoyed our time here, but we've been almost a month. It'll be nice to get back into my own bed.”

“Yeah, me too,” she admitted.

As she said this, she looked at him and smiled. She liked how he was beginning to think of Trinity and the small city surrounding it as home. When Nigel first began working for her, everything seemed to make him uncomfortable—the hunts, the students, the classes. He had blushed and stammered often, and it was not unusual for him to withdraw into himself. Now, his growing confidence was obvious. He seemed more comfortable both with her and with himself. A strong relic hunter was starting to emerge, which pleased Sydney because he was already the best assistant she'd ever had.

As they pulled up in front of the small white courthouse, Sydney couldn't help but think it wasn't very imposing. From the outside, it looked more like a nineteenth century schoolhouse. It even had a tower for a bell in the top.

Even though the structure was small, it was obvious that great care had been taken in its restoration. Though modern structures like homes, a store, and a brick post office surrounded it, its stately and quaint structure offered to take them back in time.

Nigel was looking at a brochure he had found at the hotel. “It says here it was built in 1805. It has a gaol downstairs, and upstairs has records and documentation from the area. That's in the judge's chambers. I wonder what kind of legal problems they'd have in an area like this.”

“I don't know, Nigel,” Sydney replied as they approached the door. “Why don't w...”

“Excuse me.”

Both Sydney and Nigel turned at the voice to see a man hurrying across the street towards them. The area was calm, and he didn't even bother to check for traffic. As he approached, Sydney noticed that he was tall and bony. Even so, wiry muscles could be seen through his thin shirt, and he moved with the grace of someone who was used to using his body for his living. Black hair shaggily framed a delicate but windburned face and eyes almost as dark looked at them through a mop of it that had flopped down over his forehead. He was young, with torn jeans and earphones hung around his neck.

Sydney waited for him to catch up, noting that he could be as young as sixteen or as old as twenty-five.

“It is you,” the young man said. “I thought so. I was just over getting my mail when I saw you get out of the car. I was visiting my brother at Acadia when you gave the lecture last week, and I wanted to meet you.”

His eyes twinkled as he smiled, and dimples appeared in his cheeks.

“Hi,” Sydney smiled back. 

“Are you giving a lecture here?” he asked curiously.

“Yes. The local museum asked us to give a lecture while we were in the area, and we're going to be speaking at Burridge and the Mariner's Centre, as well.”

“That's great. We don't get many famous people around here. Not cool ones, anyway. My name's Jason, by the way.”

“I'm Sydney, and this is my assistant, Nigel.”

Nigel smiled and held out his hand. “Hello.”

Jason shook it. “Yeah, I remember. Listen, there's something I've been working on, something you might be interested in, and I was wondering if you'd have a look.”

“What kind of something?” she asked.

“I think I might have found the location of an important shipwreck, but I'm not sure. I need someone to either help me look or point me in the right direction. You up for it?”

Sydney looked at Nigel and raised an eyebrow.

“Which shipwreck?” he asked.

“The Mary Catherine.”

“The Mary Catherine? That was a famous smuggling ship. It was lost and no one knows where.”

“I think I do.”

“Why do you want to find it?” Sydney put in. 

“I want to prove I'm right.”

“Is that it? Do you have material interests in the ship?”

Seriously, Jason said, “I've been researching local ship wrecks since I was a kid. With our history, it seemed only natural. I care about the Mary Catherine, but not in the way you think.”

“So, you'd donate everything to the museum?”

“Yeah.” He grinned again. “If I can hold it first.”

That desire was something Sydney knew well. Much like her mentor, Alistair Newell, just holding a lost relic in her hand for a moment was all the payment she needed for finding it. She saw this same need in Jason's eyes.

“All right. Show us what you've got.”

“I live just up the road. It's a short walk.”

Sydney and Nigel left their rented car at the courthouse and followed Jason down the road. He waved to several people as they passed and greeted one in something that sounded like a mixture of English and French. As the warm words came from his lips, Nigel's ears perked up. Sydney could tell he was listening carefully.

“That was French, but not a dialect I'm familiar with.”

“Acadian,” Jason said helpfully. Nigel nodded, filing this away for later reference. “This is me.”

He led them up a dirt drive towards a small yellow house. The lawn in front was lush and covered with toys—swings, a plastic playhouse, a bicycle, and several smaller amusements. What Sydney could see of the backyard held an old and faded wooden shed and a mountain of lobster pots.

“Mom, Dad, and Gislaine are gone for the day so we shouldn't have any interruptions.”

Jason took them inside and to the back of the house. The room behind the door he opened looked like a combination of a computer room and a library. Every surface was covered with papers or models of nineteenth century sailing ships. Shelves held local history books as well as fictional sea stories.

“So, where is this information you found?”

Jason started hauling out maps, books, photocopies, and pictures seemingly at random to pile them on top of an already messy working table in the middle of the room. He motioned to chairs already covered in reference material, so Sydney lightened one of its load so she could sit down. 

After a moment of piling things so high that the whole mess on the table wobbled, Jason approached with one of his tomes in his hand.

“This is where I started...”

XXX

Claudia entered the lounge feeling both attractive and confident. She wore a backless pink dress that came to mid thigh, and both her lips and nails were dark red. She had taken the time to do her hair and freshen her make up. Her small white hands clasped a purse that was a perfect match for her dress.

At this time of day, the lounge wasn't exactly teaming with people. She saw a couple at a table, drinking and whispering intimately. A trio of men in business suits were studying and passing papers around their table; two more men sat at the bar, one looking uptight, and the other as if he'd had too much to drink.

Claudia steered clear of everyone and perched on a stool at the end of the bar. The bartender was a husky woman with her hair pulled back in a pony tail.

“A diet cola, please.”

The woman just nodded and went to get the drink. Claudia frowned down at the top of the bar and wondered if she should have waited a couple more hours.

“Well, hello.”

The voice made Claudia jump and squeak in surprise. She turned, ready to give a scathing reply. Her scowl turned into a simpering smile as she saw the man standing beside her. She thought he might just be the most handsome man in the world. He was every bit as tall, dark, and handsome as the cliché, and the eyes that regarded her with amusement were almost a clear amber color.

“Is anyone sitting here?” His voice was quiet and smooth.

“There is now,” Claudia replied, her smile widening.

He inclined his head slightly. “Thanks. So, what's a lovely lady like you doing sitting at a bar all by herself?”

“I was looking for you.”

He laughed softly. “You were? Then, it's a good thing I stopped by.”

“I'll say.”

The man settled onto the stool next to hers and offered his hand. “Patrick. Patrick Gagnon.”

The hand was warm and firm. So were his eyes. “Claudia.”

“Nice to meet you Claudia.”

Claudia noticed that his suit was neat, pressed, and very expensive. The jacket and pants were as black as his hair, but the silk shirt beneath was blood red. She hoped that meant he was as rich as he was handsome.

“So, what's fun to do around here?” she asked boldly.

“I wish that I could tell you. I just came into town from Quebec City yesterday.”

“Quebec?”

“Yes. I'm here for a business conference.”

“Me too! Well, sort of.” His direct, interested gaze made her blush, something she was definitely not used to. “I'm here on business, anyway. I'm Sydney Fox's administrative assistant.” His face showed no sign of recognition, so she continued, “She's a professor of ancient studies at Trinity University. She's in the area to give talks about some of the things she teaches about.”

“Like what?”

Claudia waved her hand. “Old stuff.”

“And do you like this old stuff?” At that moment, the waitress came by with Claudia's drink. Patrick ordered a Scotch on the rocks before turning his attention back to her.

Claudia, lost from looking at him instead of listening to his words, asked, “Where were we?”

“I was just wondering what you thought of the old stuff your employer is giving lectures on.”

“Well, some of it is pretty cool, but,” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “most of it is pretty boring.”

“You like more modern enjoyments.”

“And those still alive.” She beamed at him suggestively.

“Wouldn't you know,” his amusement was plain, “I happen to be alive.”

Her stomach did a little flip flop. “I noticed. What do you say ask some locals where the best times are and then go find them?”

“I'd like nothing more.”


	3. Chapter 2

The little boat was so small that Nigel was sure one of them would tumble over the side. Sydney sat on a very narrow seat in the bow. Her back was to the water, and her knees were on either side of Nigel. He sat uncomfortably on the bottom of the boat; uncomfortable both because it was hard and lumpy and full of water and because the only room for him to sit was between Sydney's thighs. Their shovels crowded against him, making him even more cramped. Jason sat just a couple of feet away, in the stern, facing both relic hunters. The waves were choppy, and the boat was riding very low. 

“I was pretty sure one of these islands was where the ship went down,” Jason said loudly over the sound of the wind. “I'm glad you helped me confirm it. There were some things I just couldn't figure out without you.”

“The Mary Catherine has been missing for a long time,” Sydney said. “It will be nice to finally find her resting place. She was supposedly carrying items belonging to the king himself when she disappeared.”

“I'm more interested in personal items from the sailors themselves,” Jason admitted. “Each one of them was a living, breathing man. I want to know what it was like to be a smuggler, living on that kind of ship, back then.”

“We might not find anything.”

“I know, and I can live with that. But, think what we might find!”

Nigel listened absently to the two of them talking. His stomach was rolling, and he was fighting the constant fear that they'd either sink or fall out. The scenery passed by dizzily, even though they were moving at the pace of a Banff Springs Snail. It was hard for him to concentrate on more than making his stomach behave.

Even so, he couldn't help but notice how the area was dotted with small islands. It was almost as if some god had been sleeping in the mud and, when he rose, clumps of earth had fallen from his fingers to create the chain. Most of them were filled with trees, and he saw the occasional hidden cabin. A few were barren and rocky, their beaches strewn with seagulls and driftwood.

Nigel stared at one of these and blinked. He raised one of his hands and rubbed his eyes. Sydney somehow felt his disbelief through the nearness of their bodies and asked, “What is it, Nigel?”

“Is that...is that sheep?”

Jason laughed. “You've got good eyes, Nige. A few of the islands are home to small herds of wild sheep. The only time they see people is at shearing time. Seal Island is the most famous, but you can find them dotted all along this shore.”

“Seal Island?” Nigel forgot his nausea for a moment. “Will we see seals?”

“If you keep your eyes open, you might.”

Nigel looked around carefully, squinting at the water and the beaches of each island. Though he saw buoys and more driftwood and seagulls, he didn't see any seals. He was a bit disappointed.

“That's where we're going.” Jason pointed to an island still quite far away. “We should get there in about fifteen minutes.”

It was more like twenty. Nigel's stomach counted every second of it, and when they pulled up on the beach, he wanted to kneel and kiss the small strip of sand.

Sydney got out of the boat first, elegantly and with a lot more grace than Nigel, who stumbled out after her. She took a couple of steps and stopped to study the island. Nigel watched her closely, a lump forming in his throat.

She was as still as a statue, her long hair gently stirred by the cool ocean breeze. With her hand shading her eyes and her face focused and intent, she looked to him like a talented artist's beautiful interpretation of determination.

He swallowed the lump and forced his eyes away from her and onto the sand. This was all Claudia's fault. He had always thought his boss was stunning and amazing, but after their adventure in the wilds of Alaska, because of Claudia's romance predictions, Nigel was suddenly seeing Sydney in a whole new way. It was hard to stop the water once the dam was busted, but he'd been trying.

“You all right?” she asked, sensing his momentary discomfort as she sensed everything.

“Just a little nauseous.”

She accepted this at face value as she scanned the island again. After a moment, she pointed and said, “That way.”

“Are you sure?” Jason asked.

She started off in the direction she had pointed without answering, so Nigel replied, “Trust her instincts.”

Jason shrugged and the two men started out after a rapidly disappearing Sydney.

The sand turned to rock and shrub almost immediately, and Nigel found himself stumbling often. His cheeks heated on the fourth or fifth time when he realized that Jason was as graceful as a cat. The younger man hadn't tripped once.

“Do you really think she knows where she's going?”

“Sydney's got a knack for this kind of thing. If the ship's here, she'll find it.”

“I hope so. I've been waiting for this since I was ten years old.”

Sydney turned at the tree line and called, “Are you two coming?”

“Are seagulls kleptoparasitic?” Nigel mumbled to himself as Jason sprinted to catch up to Sydney. Nigel didn't dare to go that fast; he was afraid he'd break his ankle.

When he reached the other two, Sydney was saying, “I studied the currents as we came here, and they matched the information we thought was relevant in your research. The ship might not have actually crashed here, but the water would have brought whatever's left here. It would have gone in that direction. Some of it may be visible, but I think most of it would have been covered over given the weather. This could be why it was never found.” 

“I'd settle for finding a piece of the hull...preferably one that said Mary Catherine in nice big letters.”

It only took them about twenty minutes to cross the island. Nigel was glad it didn't take any longer because he had somehow gotten tree sap on his hands and on his shirt. It was brown and sticky, and he didn't think it would ever come off. Bits of dirt and bark were soon glued to it, and the grit made his teeth hurt when it scraped against anything solid. He tried rubbing his hands together to take it off, but that just seemed to make things worse.

As they broke out onto another rocky beach much like the first, Jason asked, “What do we do now?”

“Start looking.”

XXX

Three hours later, Sydney was sitting on a rock resting. Nigel was lying nearby, either unmindful or clueless to the bugs playing on the grass around him. Jason was still diligently searching, though they had been over the whole small stretch of beach three times.

She wiped a damp strand of hair from her forehead and took a gulp from the bottle of water Nigel had produced from his backpack. She couldn't help the frown that came to her face. She had been so sure.

She was just going to tell Jason that they might as well head back when something just inside the tree line caught her eye. It was dull and bleached and, from that distance, she couldn't tell if it had once been white or brown. It could be a piece of driftwood, she decided, and that was more than they had found so far.

She got up and carefully stepped over Nigel, who looked at her questioningly. She just inclined her head slightly. He sat up after she had passed over, and she could feel his eyes on her as she made her way to the trees.

“What is it?” Jason called from further down the beach.

“Maybe nothing,” she called back. “Let me check.”

Her eyebrows rose as she neared her destination and saw, mostly hidden by fallen branches and scrub, a small, wooden cross. It was crudely made, with no words to tell what it marked. If there had ever been any, they had long ago been worn away by the wind, rain, and salt water spray.

The cross was not what had caught her eye, however. She knelt and cleared some of the debris to search for what she had taken for driftwood. Her questing fingers brushed over something smooth. She bent to study it, and discovered it was bone.

She uncovered more of the skeleton with quick and nimble fingers. It was obvious almost immediately that the bones were human. Whoever had placed the cross had also died there.

“Okay, I've definitely found something,” she yelled to the men.

She heard them move towards her but didn't take the time to look. Instead, she continued searching. That's how she found the satchel.

“What's that, Syd?” Nigel asked, coming up behind her.

“I'm not sure yet. You two keep looking here.”

She left the men carefully scanning the ground around the skeleton and cross to walk back to the rock she had just been occupying. She noticed that the waterline had begun to creep up and wondered if it would reach her perch.

The satchel in her hands was dry and crumbled some when she settled cross legged on the rock. She took great care in opening it, but it still continued to deteriorate.

Inside, she found scraps of cloth that had probably once been clothing and a small book that was both faded and worn. The pages crinkled as she withdrew it, but, for the most part, the satchel had preserved it surprisingly well.

“This should tell us what we need to know,” she mumbled, opening the cover to have a look inside.

XXX

“Thomas...Thomas!”

Thomas Beresford, cabin boy on the Rising Sun, stopped staring over the stern to face the man coming towards him.

“Yes, sir?” he asked.

The man was the first mate and Thomas knew he should respect him, but he didn't. James Taybert was a small and angry man whose only speaking voice was a shout. Both years at sea and years of scowling had scored his face with harsh lines. One of his eyes had been torn out in a fight when he was young, and the other was as cold as a fish. Thomas hated him.

Thomas had been aboard the Rising Sun for five years, ever since the summer he turned thirteen. He remembered being thin, scrawny, and timid, and Taybert made him feel that way still. It didn't matter that Thomas had filled out and could now make two of the first mate or that he could lift a heavier load than any other man on the ship. Taybert still treated Thomas as a boy, and the rest of the men followed his example.

“I thought I told you to swab the deck. Instead, I find you gathering daisies. Can't you follow a simple order?”

The stench of Taybert's breath hit Thomas in the face like a blow. It was obvious that, once again, Taybert's drinking had started before breakfast.

“I was just getting started, sir.”

“Yes, you looked like it. Now, get to work!”

Thomas didn't bother to answer, he just grabbed his cloth and knelt on the planks. The wood was hard on his knees, and he felt a sliver find its way through his clothing into soft flesh.

“Someday,” his thoughts grumbled, “I'll have my own ship, and you'll be begging to be my first mate.”

The thought of making Taybert squirm and crawl as a cabin boy made Thomas smile. He was almost cheerful as he wrung out his rag and began to scrub. He barely heard the old drunk stomp off.

He had only been scrubbing for a few minutes when a cry from above made him look up. Roland Trineer was shouting and pointing from his perch in the crow's nest.

“A Ship.” His voice floated down. “And she looks like she's in trouble.” Then, he started shimmying down lines like a monkey.

A heavy hand fell on Thomas's shoulder, and he froze.

“Go get the captain, lad.” It wasn't the first mate. Instead, the hand belonged to one of the few men on the ship that Thomas liked.

“Aye, sir.”

He was off and down below as quick as his legs could carry him. Since he'd grown taller and broader, this was not nearly as easy as it used to be. Even so, only seconds had passed before he was knocking on the captain's door.

Thomas liked and admired the captain. Both quiet and thoughtful, he left most of the day to day running of the ship to his first mate. He believed in fairness and the men were a bit nicer to Thomas when he was around. Not that he hadn't given Thomas a thrashing or two himself. The difference was, when the captain beat him, he knew he deserved it.

“Who's there?”

“It's Thomas, Captain. You're wanted on deck. There's possible salvage.”

“Okay, lad. I'll be up shortly.”

Somehow, it didn't bother Thomas as much when Captain Hodge called him 'lad'. Maybe because he used that term for anyone under forty.

By the time Thomas got to the bow, they were closing in on the other ship. It was easy to see the ship was having problems. It was lying low in the water with an almost dangerous list to one side. It was also completely silent, and there were no signs of any life.

“She's dead in the water,” Trineer, now on the deck, said unnecessarily.

The silence of the ship reached across the water and surrounded Thomas. If silence had a voice, it would have been calling to him. A shiver ran down his spine, and he had to fight a sudden urge to turn and run.

“It certainly is,” the captain's voice answered, breaking the spell connecting Thomas's eyes to the lost ship.

“Should we go over, Captain?” Taybert asked respectfully. The only time Thomas ever heard him address anyone with respect was when he spoke to the captain. 

“The salvage could be worth something. Send over Trineer, Beaufort, and Cunningham. Oh, and Beresford. There may be heavy lifting.”

“Aye, sir.”

Thomas's stomach jumped with both dread and excitement.

“You heard the captain. Break out the oars. Cunningham, you're in charge. Mind the boy. Make sure he behaves.”

“Aye, sir,” Cunningham agreed gruffly. A man of few words, he motioned to Trineer, and the two of them grabbed the ropes and immediately started lowering the small boat into the water.

The trip across the placid ocean to the deserted ship seemed to take years. The whole time, the silence slipped inside of Thomas, grating on his ears and prickling his skin. It was a physical presence, and it weighed upon him, putting pressure on his chest. The ocean was as unnaturally still as the air, a sheet of ice stretching out from their small boat.

“So, what do you think we'll find?” Beaufort asked excitedly. The gleam of gold was in his eye.

“Whatever it is, the captain and first mate get first choice,” Cunningham told him. “You know that.”

“There'll be enough to go around,” Trineer spoke up. “I can feel it.”

All Thomas could feel was a heavy foreboding, but he kept this to himself.

The boat was lying so low in the water that when they finally reached it, they almost didn't need to use the rope that hung over the side.

“Do you think it will sink while we're on it?” Thomas asked, the first words he'd said since leaving the Rising Sun.

“What, are you scared, boy?” Beaufort's voice had a nasty bite.

Cunningham's was kind as he replied, “She's floated all this time. I doubt a couple more hours will sink her.”

The men clambered up onto the ship that had been named The Morning Star. They went in order of rank, leaving Thomas to tie the boats together and then scramble up last.

The silence struck him even more strongly as he threw a leg over the side of the hull. It was a deep, dark silence that seemed to draw all the light out of the day.

“All right, boys, start looking. Bring anything promising up here onto the deck. When we have it all gathered, we'll figure out how many loads to take.”

There were sounds of assent, and the men broke out into four directions. Cunningham and Trineer went below, while Beaufort took the bow. That left the stern for Thomas.

He had only gone a couple of steps when he stopped short and his blood ran cold. Sticking out from a pile of rope was a foot. It was bare, and the skin had a faint bluish tinge. Bile made its way up into his throat. There was no way skin of that color could belong to a living man.

Thomas approached the foot and knelt. In a way, it was a relief to see that it was still attached to an ankle, and that to a leg.

The body was lying face up, its eyes staring hollowly into the sky. Limbs sprawled in random directions, as if he had been a marionette and someone had suddenly cut his strings. Thomas looked carefully, but he saw no signs of either blood or violence. Instead, it looked as if the sailor had just dropped dead.

“There's a dead man here!” came a cry from the other side of the ship. Beaufort's voice shook with the declaration.

“Here too!” Thomas called back.

“Be sure you check him for valuables.”

He cringed. There was no way he was going to touch a dead body. If the others wanted his earring or his jacket, they could take it themselves. 

He got to his feet, determined to move on.

As he stepped over the body, a prickling sensation tickled the back of his neck. It felt almost as if those perpetually staring eyes had focused on him. He stopped, wanting to turn and look but afraid to do so.

Thomas swallowed and forced himself to move. The feeling of being watched followed him.

“There's no such thing as ghouls or ghosts,” he whispered to himself.

He was so busy staring ahead and repeating his mantra that he tripped over the next corpse. His body fell full length against something cold and stiff. It had hard angles that dug into his flesh and lumps and bumps that were not man made.

Thomas lay there with his eyes closed. His heart thumped wildly in his ears. The smell of death was strong around him as his cheek pressed into a thick, scratchy material.

He was afraid to open his eyes.

After a few minutes, he managed to force his heart to slow a little. Slowly, he levered himself up and pushed away from the lumpy bundle beneath him. His body screamed with relief.

Now on his back, Thomas finally dared to open his eyes. He blinked at the blueness above. Not a cloud or bird marred its perfect surface.

He lay there panting and staring at the sky far longer than he should have. He knew the rest of the men would be pillaging as much as they could, and he had to find something to contribute before he met up with them.

Turning his head slightly, he could see the corpse that had felled him. Like the other, it stared sightlessly to the heavens with no sign of distress on its lean and sunburned face.

Thomas tried not to think of the fact that his flesh had been pressed against dead flesh. He dropped his gaze from the pitted face and noticed something tucked under the body. Curiosity overcame horror, and he rolled over on his side.

It was a book.

Frowning, he reached out and touched its cover. Soft leather caressed his fingertips. His questing moved deeper, and he could feel that the pages were crisp and smooth, not rough and uneven. He drew in a sharp breath. He hadn't even known it was possible to make the edges so perfect. The book was probably worth a fortune.

Excited at the prospect of contributing something worthwhile, he forgot his fear and horror completely. Carefully, he pulled the book out from under the dead sailor.

It was already open and, as he pulled it closer, the words jumped out at Thomas. He blinked owlishly as the characters swirled in front of his eyes. Books had never interested him because he didn't know how to read, but this one pulled him in with a jerk. He frowned as the words and their meanings became clear to him. His eyes scanned the page and he read an incantation of terror and destruction. And death.

“Lord save us,” he whispered and snapped the book closed.

“Thomas, where are you, you miserable worm?” Beaufort's voice carried over the stillness of the ship.

“Here. I'm here.” He sat up quickly and stuffed the book inside his shirt.

“Get off your ass and come here. Cunningham and Trineer need our help down below.”

“Coming.”

Even though his first thought had been to share the book, now he was reluctant. Something made him want to keep it for his own so only he could read the terrible words within.

Beaufort met him before he even made it to the stairs leading downward. The man had an even wilder look about his eyes than usual, and a tick had started in his left cheek.

“How many dead?” he demanded in greeting.

“Two.”

“I saw four. Four poor, dead bastards who looked as if they'd just keeled over where they stood. No blood. No nothing.”

“Same.”

“I could swear they were staring at me as I stripped them.” Beaufort shivered. “You find anything?”

“No. They were just cabin boys.”

Beaufort grunted, “Well, Trineer found me and said there was lots below. They was carrying gold and treasure.”

“Then we'd better get down there.”

“Aye,” Beaufort shoved him slightly, “And don't go thinking about pocketing any for yourself.”

There was no chance of that. Thomas knew what happened to those who stole from Captain Hodge and Taybert.

When they reached the ladder, Thomas could see plunder already piled on the deck around it. He didn't even dare to peek at the contents for fear Beaufort would think he was a little too interested in the loot.

Averting his eyes, Thomas reached for the ladder. That's when the screaming started. It was high pitched and primal, ripped from throats whose terror had pushed them past the bonds of humanity.

Beside him, Beaufort's face went completely white, and Thomas could feel his own color quickly fading away.

The screams went on and on and on. Suddenly, with a horrifying finality, they stopped. Without a word to each other, Thomas and Beaufort shared a look. Terror broke over them in a wave, and Thomas could see his own fear reflected in his companion's face. An unspoken agreement passed between them. Leaving the others to their fate, they both turned and ran.

XXX

Sydney had been engrossed in the journal, its words jerky and carefully formed, as if the writer were just learning how to form them. She concluded that he probably was.

“Sydney, we think we've found something. Jason's gone to get the shovels.”

Nigel's words made her look up, and she closed the book gently.

“What did you find?”

“A wooden corner by the cross. We think it's a chest. What did you find?”

“A journal. And it may lead to something that's been lost a lot longer than the Mary Catherine.”

“What's that?”

“I'm not sure yet, but it's sounding like it could be The Lost Book.”

Nigel drew his brows together. “Which lost book?”

“The Lost Book.”

She waited as this percolated through his brain, wondering how someone so smart could be so slow sometimes. She knew he had it when his eyes lit up.

“Oh, The Lost Book.”

She nodded. “Last seen in Siberia.”

“It also killed countless amounts of people,” he added. “Is that something we really want to find, Syd?”

“Better safe in a museum than free to be stumbled upon by a madman. Besides, the death and destruction is just myth.” After reading the journal, she wasn't sure how much she believed this, but she said it anyway.

“I've been working for you long enough to know that just because something is a myth doesn't make it untrue.”

“True enough.”

She slipped the journal into her jacket pocket and got up to help Nigel and Jason get what they came for. Even so, Thomas and The Book were only pushed to the back of her mind, not forgotten. There would be time for a new hunt later.

XXX

In the end, they had uncovered positive proof that the man they had uncovered and the chest they dug out of the earth were both from the Mary Catherine. The chest had been full of interesting artifacts, but none of them had interested Sydney as much as the journal.

“Listen to this, Nigel,” she said later that night, after the treasure hunt was over and someone from the museum had come to take away the contents of the chest. “It says that Thomas was so fascinated by being able to understand the Book that he taught himself to read and write.”

Everything had gone to the museum except the journal. This, she kept in hopes of finding The Lost Book. The journal enthralled her, and she had been reading to him from it all evening.

Now, they sat in her room in the hotel. Nigel was in a comfortable flower print chair, his eyes drooping. Sydney had opted for the bed and was lying on her stomach with her legs twined behind her.

“If it were me, I would have dropped the blasted thing in the ocean,” Nigel mumbled around a yawn.

“I wonder if the Book had anything to do with the disappearance of the Mary Catherine.” She thumbed through a few more pages, noting the improving quality of Thomas's penmanship.

Nigel pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “We still don't know that Thomas and the Mary Catherine are related. Maybe there were two shipwrecks.”

“Maybe...I'm planning to keep reading see if I can find out. You with me?”

“Sure. Why not?”

He got up and moved across the room to sit beside her on the bed. Sydney felt a tickle of amusement as she remembered that even just six months ago, such an action wouldn't have crossed his mind. It showed that the two of them were starting to fit well together. Now not only employer and employee, they were a team.

“You're sure you can stay awake?” She gave him a little lopsided half smile.

“If not, I'll be in the right place.”

“True...”

Suddenly, the door burst open to reveal a pink cheeked, sparkle-eyed Claudia. She bounded inside and did a little twirl before collapsing into the chair that Nigel had just vacated.

“Oh my God, he is so hot!” she sighed.

“Claudia! Where have you been?”

There had been no sign of her since they had returned from the island. Sydney was a little worried, but knew Claudia had probably just met another guy. 

“I met the most amazing guy in the hotel bar today. He's gorgeous,” Claudia gushed, confirming Sydney's belief.

Sydney shared an amused glance with Nigel before asking, “Is that right?”

“You were so right, Syd. Definite possibilities. His name is Patrick and he's perfect.”

“We're only here for a couple of days, remember. I hope he's not too perfect.”

Claudia frowned. “Yeah, him too, but he's promised to visit me, and I gave him my cell number. We went out to eat and we went dancing. I'm just here for a bit, then we're going out again. If I'm lucky, I won't be back til morning.”

“How lucky are you looking to get?” Sydney asked, teasing.

She laughed. “As lucky as I can.”

“Well, that's luckier than I expect to get tonight.” Then she eyed Nigel. “At least, as far as I know.”

There it was. Delight danced through Sydney as she watched the flush wash over his face.

“Maybe you should go down to the bar and find a Patrick too—just not mine.”

Sydney sighed, “Unfortunately, Nigel and I will be working.”

“Working on what? Isn't everything all ready for tomorrow?”

“An old puzzle.”

“Oh,” Claudia waved her hand as if brushing it off. “One of those boring things.”

“It's not boring. Claudia,” Nigel protested, forgetting his embarrassment. “You just don't have an appreciation for the fascinating.”

“Patrick is fascinating. Some old dusty book is asthma causing.”

“Ha ha.”

“Anyway, I'm off to change. I just wanted to tell you how excited I am. This night's going to be great! I hope you get to meet him before he has to go back to Quebec City.”

“Maybe you can introduce us tomorrow,” Sydney told her. “You could always invite him to the presentation.”

“Are you kidding? That's dullsville. I don't want him to think of broken relics when he thinks of me.” After throwing both of her friends an indignant look, she jumped up and burst out with as much enthusiasm as she had burst in.

“Can you believe her?” Nigel asked.

“At least it will keep her out of our hair for a few hours. Be thankful.”

“Yes. Thank goodness for small favours. Now, what were you saying about the journal?”

“Oh, yeah.” 

Sydney sat up and leaned close to Nigel so he could read too. Their shoulders touched and leaning against him made a feeling of peace and well being go through her. Plus, he smelled very nice.

“Look at this, Nigel,” she said after they had been reading for almost half an hour. “There's a time jump here.”

“Yes,” he agreed, gently taking the journal from her fingers. “And it's by quite a few years. Listen to this...”

XXX

I am going to hell. There is no hope of redemption for me. If I tried to pray, God would turn his face away in anger.

There are only two of us left. Old Peggy and I walk these planks alone. The ship is as still as death, and in its stillness I still hear the cries of the damned. The face of every man I've sacrificed to the Book's greed dances before my eyes. I thought I could control this, but all control of its evil is only illusion. The Book always has the upper hand. I have been its puppet for far too long.

If I had only left it on the ship of lost souls. If I had not thought of using it to exact my revenge on those I felt had wronged me, they would be alive now. Everyone I hated—and everyone I loved.

It is a cursed thing, and it must have been forged in Lucifer's own pit. I took it in and listened to its promises. It gave me all I ever dreamed , and then it took it all away.

The darkness is still here. I feel it in the wood below my feet. It eats away at my ship. The Mary Catherine was once so strong. When I used the Book to take her, I knew what a beauty I was getting. But now, it has all turned to ash. I taste it in my mouth.

It will come for him. Peggy's life can now be counted in hours and maybe minutes. He will join the corpses that surround us, and I will be left alone on a ship of the dead.

It makes me wonder what he thought and felt, the man aboard the Morning Star that unleashed this horror on his own men by mistake. As I have done. Was he driven mad? Did he kill himself? Was his body one of those we found, or did his madness drive him over the side into the sea?

I will not do as he has done. I will not end my suffering only to leave the Book to be found by another. I end its reign of terror. Even now, I sail to a place so hidden that the Book will never be found. Then, I will sail my ship as far away as I can. There, I will smash her and destroy any evidence she has ever existed. I do this to save mankind. 

Let the demons come. They will not best me.

XXX

“I ask again,” Nigel said, after reading the entry, “is this Book something we really want to be found?”

“Nigel, it was made by the Queen of Death for her husband. It would be a great addition to her exhibit at the British Museum.” 

“Only if no one takes it and reads from it.”

“Oh, Nigel.” He shrugged and held the journal back out to her. “You know there was an obscure paper written once. I had almost completely forgotten all about it. In it, the writer said she believed that the Book had made an appearance around two or three hundred years ago—that disappearances at the time had pointed to it. Because shipwrecks were so common at the time, I don't think anyone really believed her. It looks as if she were right. I wish I could remember her name...”

“Maybe it will come to you when you're not trying to remember.”

“Maybe.”

He yawned. “I think I've had enough crazy sailors for tonight. I'm going to head to bed. Thomas has waited this long. He can wait a little longer.”

“I suppose you're right.”

She watched Nigel cross the room to the door and yawned quietly. Then, she shut out the light and fell into a heavy sleep disturbed by images of demons and a haunted, hollow eyed young man.


	4. Chapter 3

Ramona Smith stood staring out at the children playing in the yard below. They laughed as they chased each other. Around their feet, a small dog scampered, and his barks mingled with the laughter. The scene reminded Ramona of her own childhood. Of course, her name hadn't been Ramona Smith then. 

The office door opened to admit a young, nervous looking man. He was clutching her mail in his hand.

Ramona let a smile she did not feel come to her face. “Come in, Jonas.”

“Sorry to disturb you,” he said, “but the mail has come.”

“Set it on the desk, please, and bring me some coffee.”

He inclined his head slightly and put down the mail. To Ramona, he looked very young, though she knew he couldn't have been more than a couple of years her junior. 

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. It was red this time and shorter than it had been in years. Still, the real Ramona Smith had been a red head, so there had been no choice. It seemed silly, mourning for a lost hair color when she'd lost everything else.

She made her way to the desk, not especially wanting to go through that day's mail. She was expecting something that, once received, would cause all hell to break loose. All she wanted was a couple more days of peace.

As she sat, the top letter made her frown. There was something about the handwriting that was familiar. She reached for the memory. Someone she knew wrote like that, but it wasn't someone from this life. She was sure of that.

Then, the return address caught her eye. Mandy Blair. Forgetting everything else, Ramona snatched up the envelope and tore the seal.

A piece of paper fluttered from the jagged tear. It was an article cut from a newspaper just three days before. She opened the envelope to peer inside, looking for anything else that would explain. There was no note. The envelope was empty.

Still frowning, she flipped the clipping, which had fallen face down, over on the desk. A picture of three smiling people greeted her. Two of them were young men, one dark and one light, one smiling and one looking like the cliched deer in the headlights. The last was a woman. Ramona knew her well from her days in research. Sydney Fox.

The headline read, “Relic Hunter finds Gold off Coast of Nova Scotia”. Wondering why her old partner would send her this, especially now when she was a high up member of the Green List, she began to read.

She was only a couple of lines in when understanding hit her like a blow. Her brows shot up and her hand reached urgently for her encrypted Agency phone.

“Todd.”

“Agent 437. We have a situation. Find Derek Lloyd.”

XXX

“I don't think I've ever been so happy to be home in all my life!” Claudia exclaimed as the three of them got into Sydney's waiting jeep. “It seems like we've been gone for years.”

Sydney yawned as she pulled her seat belt so she could snap it closed. “It has been a long trip, hasn't it?”

“I just want to go home and sleep and sleep and sleep some more,” Nigel admitted. “At least tomorrow's Saturday.”

“Don't forget, I want to start working on the clues in Thomas Beresford's journal.”

He glanced at her, and she could see the weariness in his eyes. She was so used to having Nigel as a partner that she sometimes forgot he hadn't always been. His body was just not used to her level of activity yet.

“Right,” he said.

“But, I suppose that can wait until Monday.”

A relieved smile touched his face. “Really?”

“Sure. We need a little time to catch our wind and remember what our beds feel like.”

“We're not going to bed now are we?” Claudia stuck her head between the seats. Her blue eyes were imploring.

“What do you mean?”

“It's only six o'clock.”

“So?” Nigel and Sydney asked together.

“We can't just go home and go to bed at this hour. We've got to at least eat dinner first.”

Nigel sat up straighter and turned to face her. “The three of us?”

“Why not? We've been doing everything else together for weeks. We may as well eat before we set off for our separate caves.”

Sydney shrugged. “That sounds good to me. Nigel?”

Nigel's stomach answered for him as it gave a loud rumble.

“I'll take that as a yes.”

Claudia giggled and sat back to put on her own seat belt.

Sydney pulled out of the airport parking lot and asked, “Okay, where are we going?”

“Angelo's?” Nigel suggested.

“I hate that place,” Claudia complained from the backseat. “Can't we go to Montana's?”

“You just want to go there so you can draw on the table.”

“It beats listening to you.”

“Hey, if we're eating out together, you two have to behave,” Sydney interrupted before the argument got heated.

“Sorry, Syd,” Nigel said.

“Yeah, sorry,” Claudia echoed.

Nigel continued, “Montana's is really all right with me if it's all right with you.”

“Montana's it is.”

Montana's was actually a reasonable choice because it was situated close enough to all three apartments that it wouldn't be a long ride home for any of them. It was also quite close to the airport. Even so, Sydney's stomach was growling almost as loud as Nigel's when they got there. She hadn't eaten anything since about eight that morning and that was only a bagel.

The restaurant wasn't all that crowded, so they were seated almost as soon as they went in. The table was huge and could have seated ten people. Nigel and Sydney sat on one side, while Claudia sat across from them on the other. As soon as their waitress went to get their drinks, Claudia picked up the small Tupperware cup filled with crayons.

“What color do you guys want?”

Sydney rolled her eyes at Nigel, who was seated on her right. “I don't need a crayon, Claudia. I'm not going to write on the table.”

“Come on, Sydney. You can't eat at Montana's and not write on the table.”

Nigel nudged Sydney. “See. What did I tell you?”

“All right, Claudia. Give me a red one.”

“I'll take blue, I guess,” Nigel added.

Claudia grinned at both of them and pulled out their weapons of choice. Then, she took out a green crayon for herself. In big, swirly letters, she wrote “Claudia” in front of her. She then started drawing flowers, using other colors from the cup, and twined them around the letters. Sydney watched her with interest because she had never realized how creative her administrative assistant was.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nigel studying Claudia as well. After a moment, he picked up his own crayon and wrote his name in block letters. He was soon giving the letters stripes.

Instead of writing her own name, Sydney decided to draw a picture. She thought a moment before starting to sketch a knight holding a sword. She wasn't an artist, but she could draw well enough to produce renderings when she needed to. Red didn't make a good knight, though, and she wished she had asked Claudia for gray.

They were all busily working on their artwork when the waitress came to ask them for their order. She smiled at them perkily as she stood by the place at the table where she had printed her own name. Even though they had been too busy doodling to look at the menus, they visited the restaurant often enough to know what they wanted.

Claudia barely looked up from her drawing as the waitress left with their order. Hearts, ribbons, and vines had joined the flowers swirling around her name. She had recently used a black to shade in some flower middles. When she put it down to reach for a more traditional pink, Sydney snatched it up so she could add some sombre tones to her blade and suite of armour. Nigel had finished his blue stripes, so Sydney handed her no longer wanted red to fill in what was left.

“Thanks, Syd.”

“Welcome.”

“See,” Claudia said, picking up the green again to draw more vines. “I told you this would be fun.”

“Claudia,” Nigel told her, “When I think of you and fun, I think of raves and mosh pits.”

“Hey, I can enjoy the simple things.”

He opened his mouth, but Sydney shot him a look before he could say something mean. He shrugged and shut it, drawing weird swirly things around his N.

“I never doubted it for a minute,” Sydney said, filling in the silence Nigel had left.

“Thank you.” Claudia had started weaving another name through hers and all her little embellishments. Curiously, Sydney watched to see whose name it was. Somehow, she wasn't surprised when the new letters spelled “Patrick”.

“How did your date with Patrick go, Claudia? You never did tell us.”

Nigel groaned, but he was ignored.

“It was great! He is so wonderful. We went out for more dancing. There was this great place...I forget what it was called. They had a live band. Afterward, we got to meet them. Of course, none of them were as good looking as my Patrick. He promised to call me in a few days. I can't wait!”

Sydney wiggled her eyebrows, remembering their hotel room conversation. “Did you get lucky?”

“Syd!” It was Nigel who protested, and both women laughed. They were saved from Claudia's answer by the arrival of the food.

“Yum!” Claudia said, quickly tossing the crayons in their cup. She even ripped the red crayon out of Nigel's hand as he was still coloring. It appeared as if his name would have to permanently remain half colored.

Still, he smiled warmly at the waitress and said, “This looks lovely. Thank you.”

She smiled back and said, “Let me know if you need anything. Remember, my name is Hannah.” She pointed to where she had written it on the table. To her credit, she said it to all three of them.

Sydney looked down at her white pasta dish, thinking it looked even better than usual.

“I'm glad you suggested this place, Claudia. It's been awhile since I've been here.”

“Me too!” She was already attacking her vegetarian dish with gusto.

Sydney picked up her own fork, anticipating her first bite. She brought the fork down and looped it through a strand of noodles. It was halfway to her mouth when something struck her directly on the end of her elbow. Pain shot up her arm and her numb fingers nearly let go of the fork as its load of noodles flew forward.

There was a wet smacking noise and a girlish cry of, “Eek!”

Sydney stared in hopeless shock at Claudia, who had white noodles sliding down her pixie-like face. The sauce made messy trails that almost looked like tear tracks before softly pattering onto the paper tablecloth.

“Oops,” Nigel said softly.

He was sitting with his own fork in his hand, halfway to his mouth. Some pasta had dribbled off onto his silk shirt at the impact of bone meeting bone. His eyes were focused on his shirt, and he had not yet raised his eyes to Claudia's face.

“Next time, I sit on your right side,” Sydney told him.

“Huh?”

“That wasn't a chair you just banged your elbow on.”

He looked up sheepishly. “Sorry, Syd.”

“I think you should apologize to Claudia.”

“What for?” He glanced at Claudia and froze. A smile twitched along his lips but he managed to keep it from appearing, even as the last noodle dripped unceremoniously from the end of her nose.

Finally getting over the shock, Claudia reached for her napkin. “If you laugh, honeybun, you'll be sorry.”

“I wouldn't dream of it. Would you like some help?”

“You've helped enough already.” The swirl of her napkin seemed to spread the sauce instead of mopping it up.

“We're both sorry, Claudia,” Sydney told her, taking the napkin from thin, girlish fingers and cleaning the rest of her face.

Claudia rolled her eyes. “Thank you, Mommy.”

“It's the least I could do after splattering it all over you.”

Her chair scraped across the floor as she wiggled to move it away from Nigel's. She then swung her elbow to make sure there was no chance of its connecting with Nigel's again. When Claudia began eating, she assumed it was safe for her to do the same.

“You know,” Claudia said, chewing a vegetable, “if someone handcuffed the two of you together on the wrong side, you could be pretty helpless.”

“Are you planning something, Claudia?”

“No, but it's an interesting thought. I've never really thought about the whole right handed, left handed thing before.”

“It's not that big a deal.”

“No, I guess not, but it is something to think about.” She yawned widely. “Oh, excuse me. I'm starting to get sleepy.”

“Well, our bodies are still on Nova Scotia time. It's an hour later there.”

“I wish my body would smarten up. I wanted to go out.”

“Heaven forbid you might want to go home and study or sleep.”

“Studying's for smart people and sleeping's for senior citizens.”

Sydney pointed her fork at her. “I'm going home to sleep, and I'm not a senior citizen.”

“You're in your thirties. That's close enough.”

“I'm thirty-one!”

“See?”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Eat your meal, Claudia.”

XXX

Derek started hauling clothes out of dresser drawers and stuffing them into a duffle bag. The room was still mostly dark, but he didn't bother to turn on a light. He knew the small hotel room by heart, and there would be no surprises lurking for him in the darkness.

It was a relief to be leaving. Even though he'd much rather be going back to his own villa, anywhere was better than this small dive he'd been calling home for the better part of three months. He hated everything about it, from the small, dirty light bulb that constantly flickered to the ripped mosquito netting that had come with the room. The walls consisted of peeling paint and plaster. Both might have been white at one time, but now they were a dull yellowy grey caused by years of cigarette smoke and Derek didn't want to know what else.

The sheets and comforter were the only clean part of the room, and that was only because Derek washed them himself. The carpet was worn and it too had faded to grey. Its surface was pocked with cigarette burns, stains, and holes.

A rickety desk stood in one corner. One of its legs was broken, and it had taken Derek two thick volumes to make it even appear straight. The whole thing still wobbled when he sat at it to write.

Besides his clothes, Derek didn't have much to pack. He made a habit of not acquiring many possessions—and easily disregarding what he did acquire. The books he had bought solely to straighten the desk would be left behind, as would the drug store spy novels he had been reading for entertainment in that boring cesspool of a town.

Only two possessions in the whole room mattered to him. The first was a long, cylindrical case tucked in the top drawer. Before his savage packing, it had been hidden by his socks and underwear.

He took out the case carefully, even though he knew it was unlikely that his handling would hurt what was inside. He also knew that it was almost impossible that it had gone missing, but he still opened the top of the case to peek inside. The Paracelcius Scroll sat there, visible even in the dim light. It looked so innocent and benign for half of something that could permanently change the world's economy. Satisfied it was safe, Derek closed the case and slipped it in with his clothes.

There was only one thing left to pack.

Derek moved silently across the room to the desk. On its marred surface sat a wooden picture frame. It was one of those made up of two sides joined together with a hinge. It could easily be closed and latched, the pictures inside kept safe by kissing each other. Other than the shiny hinge, the frame was simple. Its sleek lines were undecorated, and the stain was an unimpressive color.

One side of the frame showed five smiling faces. They were all women; four of them young, and one in her late fifties. Their features were similar, especially the delicate cheekbones and the expressive grey-blue eyes. Looking at them, a casual observer wouldn't know how much their personalities differed. And they wouldn't know how much each woman meant to the agent who held their picture in his hand.

As his eyes fondly landed on each face, Derek was grateful to have such loving women to return home to. Their smiles made him smile, and he was glad that, at least for them, Richard Watson was still very much alive.

The other side of the frame held a picture of two men. They were standing together, their arms around each other's shoulders. Both of them were smiling. One of the men was tall and blond. His body was thin, and its wiry muscles were hidden under a geekish white shirt that actually held pens in the front pocket. Glasses were perched low down on his rather large nose, and his open face was shining. The smile on his face was one that appeared often, as the smallest of things got him excited. Years in the Agency had not managed to chip away at his sunny personality. Now, they never would.

The man in the picture was the real Derek Lloyd.

Beside him stood his best friend, Richard Watson. The man who now called himself Derek thought the two of them looked very young in that picture. It held the only warmth he had ever felt at the Agency, and he cursed Turley for taking it away from him.

As he stared at the picture, he could even hear his friend's voice...

XXX

Richard Watson sat back from his computer and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He had been staring at the monitor so long that the words were jumping and making no sense. Computers were his friend Derek's passion; Richard preferred being in the field. Physical exertion didn't give him a headache.

“You okay?” The man beside him asked, concern in his brown eyes. 

“Yeah. Just tired.”

Derek sat at the other computer, his fingers racing over the keys, even though his gaze was focused on Richard. Derek was a computer whiz, and most of what he did with one was instinctual.

“Already?”

“We've been looking for files for five hours. My eyeballs feel like they're falling out of my head.”

“Five hours?” Derek looked at his watch. “Wow! Where did the time go? You find anything?”

“Nope. You?”

“I think I might have. Do you want to take a break and pick this up tomorrow?”

Richard sighed. “You read my mind.”

He reached out to turn off his computer, but Derek kept clicking his mouse. Richard shook his head and wondered, not for the first time, why Turley had paired the two of them when she became their superior five years before. No two agents could be more different.

Richard watched his friend for a moment, marveling at how easily they had become friends. Derek was a shy, open genius who loved nothing more than to solve a really hard puzzle. He had grown up in foster homes, but the experience had not left him bitter. Richard assumed that was because in his last one he had found the family he craved. Derek had been eleven, and the woman who had taken him in sixty, but each had found a kindred spirit in the other. Though she had passed away when Derek was just twenty, his eyes still shone when he spoke of her.

Richard, on the other hand, was loud and boisterous. He barely remembered his father, who left when he was only seven. He grew up as the only male in a house full of girls, and he knew more about women than most of the men around him. His was a close knit, fiercely loving family, and he understood what it was like to look out for someone and have someone look out for you. 

Richard remembered meeting Derek and thinking there was no way he'd be able to stand the man for more than a couple of hours. Still, something clicked, and their first mission had been a rousing success. After that, their friendship had become solid and unshakable.

Derek caught Richard's amused smirk out of the corner of his eye. “What?”

“Trying to caress her into giving up a few more of her secrets?”

Derek laughed. “She's a lady, but even a lady will give in if you're gentle and persuasive enough.”

“All right, my friend. You keep working on the lady. I'm going to go down the hall and get us some coffee. We'll drink it, and then we're going home. Both of us.”

“Fair enough.”

When Richard returned, Derek was sitting as close to the screen as he could, his face distant and intense. He stuck a sunburned hand out aggressively. Richard obediently placed the cup inside it, curling his friend's fingers around the porcelain. Derek grunted at the heat but otherwise remained silent.

“Drink quickly,” Richard ordered. “I'm getting you out of here, and we're doing something fun. When you start romancing your computer, it's time for you to go out and see real people.”

This got Derek's attention. He shook blond curls out of his eyes and asked, “Where are we going?”

“Lefty's?”

“The strip club?” A flush went over Derek's face. Even his ears were tinged with red. “No...no...I don't think so.”

Richard shook his head and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “All right. No naked women. Where do you want to go? O'Leary's?”

“Can't we just watch a movie?”

Movies were one thing they agreed on. They both liked the ones with lots of explosions and crazy action scenes. The only other thing was stamps. Derek had recently started Richard collecting, and Richard was surprised at how much he enjoyed it.

“The theatres are only showing chick flicks this week.”

Derek grimaced. “We could watch DVDs. I just bought Die Hard and Die Hard II.” 

“Bruce Willis? Terrorists? Explosions? I'm in.”

His grimace turned into a beaming smile. “Great! Just give me a few more minutes. I promise to finish before I'm done my coffee. I even have some chips and Pepsi.”

“What, no beer?”

“You know what that stuff does to my stomach. We can pick some up on the way home, if you want. Hmmnn. And maybe some pizza?”

“Now you're talking. Meat lovers?”

“With mushrooms.”

“Heaven.”

XXX

Richard was sitting on his couch watching The Late Show when the call came. At first, he almost didn't answer it. It was so late, and he and Derek had worked until after ten. Besides, he didn't feel like talking to anyone. All he wanted was to sit in front of the TV in his underwear and undershirt until he fell asleep.

At the fourth ring, he decided that he probably should answer it. It could be one of his sisters or his mother calling for an emergency.

He groaned as he got out of his chair. His body ached from sitting all day. It was funny because it never felt that way when he was on an actual physical mission.

“Watson,” he growled as he answered his land line.

“Richard?”

“Derek?”

“Yeah, it's me.” There was a hollow, scared note in his voice. This drove all thoughts of fatigue out of Richard's mind. Derek never got scared. Richard had lately come to believe that his friend was the most quietly brave man he had ever met.

“What is it? Is there trouble?”

“Yeah. You don't know the half of it. I think I'm going to die, Richard. I haven't got much time.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It's Turley. She's dirty. When we were working tonight, I came across something suspicious. I checked it out and...she knows I know.”

“Knows you know what? Derek, tell me what's going on.”

“The Scrolls. She's already got a buyer for the Scrolls. She's planning on our getting them and then killing us and saying we died in the attempt. No one would know we retrieved them but her and her buyer.” 

“Where are you?”

“I'm on my way home to hide the Scroll. She can't find it, Richard! You know where I'm hiding it. If something happens to me, promise you'll complete our mission at all costs. Don't let her get them first.”

“Go home and stay put, Buddy. I'm coming to get you. We'll face her together.”

“Then you'd better hurry. I've got to go. I'm pulling in the drive now. I'm going to hide the Scroll.”

The phone clicked in Richard's ear, and he was on the move before his own phone was in its cradle.

He didn't think he'd ever dressed so fast. He threw on his discarded shirt and ripped his dresser drawer open when he couldn't find his pants. He hopped into the clean ones while he looked for his keys. He barely took time to slip on his shoes.

The whole way to Derek's house, his mind whirled with thoughts and images. He couldn't believe that Turley had turned. She had always seemed so solid. Though she was cold, Richard had always liked her forthright attitude and the way she took charge of a situation. He also admired the fact that she was the best marksman he'd ever known.

Determination burned in him. She would never get the Scrolls. If it meant his life, he would stop her with his last breath.

The drive to Derek's was only ten minutes, but it felt like hours. When he screeched into the driveway, Derek's car was there but the house was dark and still. Richard's stomach clenched, and he felt his palms start to sweat. He tried to tell himself that he was overreacting. He hadn't even scoped the situation yet.

Even so, Richard was positive something was wrong. Derek could just be hiding inside his house with the lights off, but something inside Richard told him that was not the case.

His gun was sitting on the seat beside him. Richard reached over and wrapped his hand around the grip, his knuckles white with tension. If Turley was in there waiting to take him out, he was determined to take her with him.

Carefully, Richard made his way to the back of Derek's house. He used the night as a cloak, moving through the darkest shadows.

The closer he got to the house, the more sure he became that there was no one there. Derek's house was like an empty shell—soulless.

The back door was unlocked. Richard opened it as quietly as he could and slipped inside.

He moved through the kitchen without turning on any light. He had been in it enough times to know his way around in the dark. Still no movement made its way to his straining ears.

When he reached the living room, the tang of blood reached his nostrils. He reached for the light switch, but he knew what he would find before he even flicked it.

As the light came on, pain ripped through Richard's gut, and his first instinct was to turn it back off. Then he wouldn't have to see the sprawled form of his best friend staring sightlessly at the ceiling. A small hole marred his forehead, and a sticky red trail slid from it onto his cheek. Blood soaked the floor around him, and Richard knew that the back of Derek's head must be all but gone.

Derek's glasses were knocked sideways, and one lens had fallen out and was crushed to slivers on the floor beside his jaw. His white shirt was stained with sweat, and his tie hung at an angle almost parallel to his broken arms.

Richard was too late.

He knew he should turn the light back out and immediately go for the Scrolls. If he wanted to not only survive but to succeed with the mission, he had to move fast.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't just leave his friend that way.

Shaky legs no longer able to hold him, Richard sat in the nearest chair. All he could do for several minutes was sit there and stare at Derek's body. He had seen death many times, but it had never been someone he really cared about. It was hard to believe that he would never hear Derek's bad jokes again, never see him smile again, and never have someone he trusted so completely to watch his back again. Richard had never felt so lonely in his life.

When he could move, he got up and went to Derek. Yes, he had to find the Scroll and get out of there, and yes he had a lot to do, but there was something more important he had to do first.

“I'm sorry, Derek, but don't worry. I'll complete our last mission or die trying. First, though, let's find you somewhere to rest.”


	5. Chapter 4

Sydney hummed to herself as she gathered up her hair and pulled it tightly into a ponytail elastic. She was already wearing her most comfortable shirt and a baggy pair of plaid pajama bottoms that her friend Trish had bought her for Christmas.

Darkness had fallen outside, and the night sky was clear and bright.

She knew she should be tired, but she felt energized. It had been a relatively quiet Sunday, and she had used it to catch up on all the housework she had missed while she was gone and to get reacquainted with her cat. At first, Mafdet had pretended that she had no idea who Sydney was. Then she insisted on sitting with her back to Sydney and not coming close enough to be touched. It had taken the whole weekend for the stubborn cat to allow herself to be stroked, but she'd been following closely behind Sydney ever since.

Sydney smiled, thinking about it and turned off the bathroom light. She went into her bedroom and saw the object of her thoughts curled up tightly on the pillow.

The cat didn't even open an eye as Sydney sat down beside her, wondering if she should turn on the TV or maybe watch a movie.

She reached over to stroke Mafdet's soft fur. This got no reaction except for a loud purr that rumbled through Sydney's hand and down her arm.

Her eyes landed on the stand on the other side of Mafdet. It held a lamp, her clock radio, and Thomas Beresford's journal. She looked at the journal and bit her lip, wondering if she should start reading where she and Nigel had left off. They had said they were going to study the journal together on Monday, but she was curious about The Lost Book. Somewhere in the ravings, which got more and more unstable as the entries passed, was the answer to the Book's fate. 

Leaning over Mafdet, Sydney retrieved the journal. She studied the worn and faded cover for a moment, thinking of the skeleton and cross she had found. If appearances were truth, then Thomas had managed to hide the Book and bury Peggy before he himself had died. She wondered if it was madness or the elements that had claimed him in the end.

After reading how he found the book and about his guilt over using it, Sydney felt almost as if she knew him. She could see him in her mind, the boy who felt so lost and alone and the man who was brave enough to defy the evil that had a hold of him.

The pages crackled as she opened them, and she knew she would have to use extreme care. If they crumbled, so did any chance of her finding the Book.

She started to slowly turn the pages, intent on finding the place where she left off. Her search abruptly ended as one black paw came down on the left side of the book.

“Move your foot,” Sydney said, pushing the furry appendage away. 

She had only flipped a couple more pages when the paw was back—bringing its mate with it. And so was Mafdet's head, which was pushed firmly against Sydney's jaw.

“Mafdet...”

The cat continued to rub the underside of Sydney's chin, completely blocking the journal from sight. Sydney patted Mafdet's head for a few seconds before giving her a gentle push. Undeterred, the cat immediately stepped back onto the journal.

“No,” Sydney said, picking her up and gently dropping her on the floor. “This is not for kitties to read.”

“Meow.”

The cat jumped back on the bed and looked at Sydney expectantly.

“Be good now. Why don't you sit in my lap, and I'll read the journal to you?”

At her voice, Mafdet came forward and plunked her whole body down on the journal. She rolled over, showing her belly to Sydney. Even if Sydney would have been in the mood to try her luck, she wouldn't have. She knew what happened to those foolhardy enough to touch Mafdet's tummy.

“You have to move. How am I supposed to get any work done?”

A distraction seemed in order. Sydney rolled over and slid to the edge of the bed. With the skilled ease of practice, she dropped her front half over the side, bracing herself with her right hand and using the left to flip up the coverlet. Sure enough, there were five balls under there. Sydney could only reach one, but one would be enough...she hoped.

Pulling herself back upright onto the bed, she glanced over and saw Mafdet lying on the book watching her. She pretended she didn't see the cat. Instead, she sat up and began rolling the ball—one with a bell—between her hands. The bell jingled enticingly as it traveled across the bedspread.

Though Sydney didn't look at Mafdet, she could feel the cat's eyes on the ball. Not acknowledging this, she just kept rolling it.

Suddenly, a black blur flew over her arm and onto the ball, which made a jarring jangle as the cat grabbed it in her font paws and rolled over with it in her little grip. Her back legs moved crazily as she tried to kick the ball as well as hug and bite it. The cat was so engrossed in trying to kill her toy that she didn't notice Sydney lean back and once more take possession of the journal.

“A harmless little diversionary tactic works every time.”

Settling down comfortably with her elbow propped up by a pillow and her cheek in her palm, Sydney started flipping through pages again.

Pain suddenly raced through Sydney's bare foot as Mafdet wrapped her whole body around it, claws extended. She chewed enthusiastically and gave a few kicks of her hind feet.

“Ow!”

Sydney shook her foot, trying to dislodge the crazy cat. Mafdet just held on harder. Sydney sat up quickly, trying to untangle her cat from her foot.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow,” she kept chanting.

She finally managed to pry the cat away and frowned at the drops of blood forming on her foot.

“I swear you were a vampire in a previous life.”

Mafdet, who was now sitting innocently as she washed her back leg, eyed Sydney passively. Sydney was tempted to touch the soft fur with her foot just to see how quickly Mafdet would go from angel to devil. Still, the journal called to her.

Ignoring the sting in her foot and ankle, Sydney settled back into her former pose. She found the place she had stopped and began to read. Before long, she felt something brush the back of her arm. A moment later, Mafdet settled against Sydney's neck. Once there, she began a loud and soothing purr.

“Now you want to play nice,” Sydney said, but she said it softly so as to not disturb the sleeping cat.

Thomas's handwriting after the onset of madness was almost as bad as it had been when he was learning to write. Sometimes, Sydney had to painstakingly make out each letter, and sometimes what she read seemed to make no sense. She had been reading an hour when something became very clear. By this time, her glasses were perched on her nose, and she was lying on her back with Mafdet sleeping in a ball on her stomach.

“Hmmn,” she said, and Mafdet answered the rumbling sound with a rumbling purr of her own.

Sydney reached for her cell, which had been sitting on her left hand side table with her glasses. She dialed quickly without even bothering to look at the time.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Nige! What are you doing?”

“Watching a movie.”

“Alone?”

“What difference does that make?”

“Can you talk?”

He sighed and she heard the background noise shut off. She assumed he had used the remote. “Sure, I can talk.”

“I don't think he threw it in the ocean.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The Book. I don't think Thomas threw it in the ocean.”

“Are you working on that tonight? I thought we were waiting until tomorrow.”

“I got bored.”

“And this is what you do for excitement?”

“Says the man whose pleasure reading includes The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire.”

She could feel him smiling on the phone as he said, “Okay, so what have you got?”

“Well, as far as I can figure, he was planning on sailing down to Australia or New Zealand and dropping it in the ocean, as he said, but I think something else came up.”

“What do you mean 'came up'?”

“I think he stopped for supplies in India...and the Book was stolen.”

“What?”

This was exactly the reaction she was looking for. “Can you come over, Nigel? It'll be easier to show you this than tell you over the phone.”

There was a pause, then he said, “Sure. Just let me get dressed, and I'll be there as soon as I can.”

XXX

“India?” Claudia exclaimed the next morning, staring first at Sydney and then at Nigel with wide eyes. “Why are you going to India?”

“Because we believe Thomas Beresford might have left The Lost Book there.”

The blond secretary pouted. “Well, it's been this long, can't it just stay lost a little bit longer?”

Sydney had been checking her satchel to make sure she had everything she needed, but she stopped at this. “What's the problem, Claudia?”

“We just got home and now you're flying off again. It's not fair.”

“You're not coming.”

“I know,” she whined, “but both of you will be gone, and I'll be here alone. Can't you stay home for a couple more days?”

“What's with this new found dependence?” Nigel asked, throwing his backpack over his shoulder.

“Patrick....Remember Patrick?...Patrick called, and he's coming into town today. Since you didn't get to meet him last week, I was hoping you could this afternoon.”

Sydney raised her eyebrows. “You're seeing him again already? It must be serious.”

“I know,” Claudia gushed and dropped onto her desk. “Isn't it great?”

“At least you won't be bored while we're gone. Just make sure you have time to fit the office into all of your extra curricular activities.”

“Don't worry. You know me.”

“Unfortunately, yes we do,” Nigel said with a mock sigh. 

“You just behave yourself, honeybun, and make sure you don't get arrested and thrown in some Indian prison.”

“All right, guys, focus,” Sydney interrupted. “Claudia, we need you to book us rooms at The Royal Hotel in Mumbai. And we need you to book the flight as well. Okay?”

“Gotcha.”

“Good. I was talking to Professor Hudson this morning, and he's agreed to take my classes on Egypt and Rome this week. Professor Henderson is taking the rest. Make sure they have full access to my materials.”

“Okay, Syd.”

Sydney stopped and studied Claudia's face to make sure the information had made it into the younger woman's perpetually scattered brain. Claudia looked alert and less distracted than usual despite her planned evening with Patrick Gagnon.

Satisfied, she nodded. “Okay, we're out of here. Ready, Nigel?”

“Ready.”

XXX

Claudia was waiting at the campus cafe just five hours later. She felt jittery. Her hands were in constant motion, and her stomach was all fluttery. 

In front of her was an untouched coffee. Steam had stopped coming from the top long before, but she hadn't noticed.

She wondered what he would be wearing. She hoped it would be red silk. He looked so hot in red silk.

“Claudia, ma cherie.”

The voice right next to her ear made her melt. It was soft and deep, and his warm breath caressed the side of her face, fluttering her hair.

She turned quickly, throwing her arms around the man beside her.

“Patrick!” she gushed. “I'm so glad you came!”

“Me too.” He gave her a little kiss on the cheek. “How have you been?”

“Missing you.”

“Then it's a good thing I'm here, even if it's just for a couple of days.”

Her face fell. “Only a few days?”

“I have an important meeting on Wednesday, but we have today and most of tomorrow.”

“Then we'll have to make it count.”

He smiled at her and Claudia felt herself smile foolishly back.

“Is it all right with your boss that I have you away from your desk for the day?”

“Oh, I am the boss.”

Patrick laughed. “Oh, does, what did you say her name was? Cynthia? Does Cynthia agree with that?”

Claudia joined the laughter. “It's Sydney, and I really am the boss. She and Nigel have gone away to India and left me on my own.”

“India? Sounds exciting.”

“Not really.” Claudia grimaced. “They found some moldy book while we were in Nova Scotia. It told them about some weird thingy. I don't know. Destruction of earth. Reign of terror. Blah, blah, blah. I wasn't paying much attention. Anyway, the thing told them to go to India, I guess.”

“Is that the journal mentioning The Lost Book you told me about last week?”

Claudia shrugged. “I guess. They're always looking for something. It's all a blur.”

“I think it's rather interesting.”

Claudia's eyes widened. “You do?”

“Sure. It's exciting to hold something in your hand that someone else held a thousand years ago.”

“Really?”

“Don't you?”

“Well, in that case, would you like to see Sydney's office?”


	6. Chapter 5

Richard was awakened suddenly by something heavy and warm landing on his middle. Pain shot up through his stomach as all the air whooshed out of him and his dream of the Petrelli twins dissipated into smoke.

He groaned loudly, trying to push the weight off of him and onto the floor.

“Get up! Get up! Get up!” The bundle ordered, fighting back. “Richard, get up!”

The voice was familiar and jarred him the rest of the way out of sleep. “Janaya?”

“Molly sent me to get you, and I'm not leaving without you.”

“Why? What time is it?” He ran a hand over his face and looked at the pixie like features staring eagerly back at him.

“It's Christmas morning!”

He suddenly remembered the formal dinner at his grandparents' the night before and opening one present before bed. Excitement tingled along his backbone.

“Well, why didn't you say so?”

He took a moment to tickle his sister until she was giggling uncontrollably. Then, he easily rolled her off the bed and onto the floor.

By the time he made it to the door, Janaya had already bounded to her feet and was following close behind him. Sara was standing in the hallway waiting for them, her long hair hauled up into a pony tail.

“Good morning!” He grinned at her. “Ready for presents?”

“Mom says we have to eat breakfast first.”

“What? Breakfast on Christmas morning? Whoever heard of such a thing?” Even though he said this, he smelled Christmas morning pancakes and his stomach started to rumble. “Where's Mol?”

“Helping Mom with pancakes.”

Richard winced. “Not much, I hope.”

Though his oldest sister was the most brilliant person he knew, she was worse than hopeless in the kitchen. She always insisted it didn't matter because pediatricians didn't need to know how to cook.

“Maybe we can help too!” Janaya said. “Then it will go quicker.”

She took off down the hallway, her My Little Pony nightdress flapping as she ran. Richard watched her with amusement.

“So, what do you think Santa brought?”

His sister's serious face started to glow. “I don't know, but I can't wait to find out. I asked for a bike, but it's so big. Do you think it could fit under the tree?”

Derek remembered helping his mother put together a certain pink bike just two weeks before. Trying to keep the knowledge of this off of his face, he said, “I don't know, Sara. I think Santa could find a way. You have been good all year, right?”

She bit her lip as her eyes got distant with thought. After a moment's reflection, she said, “I think so.”

“Well, there you go, then. Now come on. Let's get this breakfast over with.”

He picked up the slight girl and threw her over his shoulder. She squealed and held on as he thumped down the hallway.

As they entered the kitchen, the smell of pancakes was almost overwhelming. Richard's stomach answered, and breakfast was suddenly more important, at least for the moment, than presents.

“Good morning, Mom.” He went over and kissed her on the cheek, Sara still dangling from his shoulder. “It smells great.”

His mother, like Janaya, was blond. “Thanks, Richard. Are you hungry?”

“Starving!”

He flipped Sara up until she was sitting on his shoulder, one arm wrapped around his neck to steady herself. 

“Great. I made lots.” It was their family tradition to make chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast on Christmas morning, and it had been for as long as Richard could remember.

“And don't worry,” Molly said, her eyes sparkling. “All I did was pour the batter into the pan and set the table.”

“We weren't worried, were we, Sara?”

“No,” she agreed, giggling as Richard slid her down to the floor. She went to join Janaya, who was sitting at the table with her fork in her hand, eyeing the stack of pancakes that served as a centrepiece. 

Their mother brought over the frying pan and flipped three more onto the stack. 

“Okay, I think that'll do for now, even with my very hungry children.” She put the frying pan on a cool burner and came back to sit between her two youngest daughters.

Richard grabbed the orange juice out of the fridge and Molly the milk before they sat side by side in the two remaining wooden chairs.

As they sat, Molly poked him in the ribs with her elbow. “Now, don't you hog all the pancakes. Leave some for us delicate eaters.”

“Delicate eaters?” Richard hooted. “You're the one Grandpa said was born with a hollow leg.”

Molly wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue. Then, the table fell silent to all but the sounds of four healthy children and one happy woman devouring a plate of pancakes. 

It was not long before Richard pushed himself back from the table, rubbing his stomach and groaning.

“I don't think I can eat another pancake.”

“Are you sure about that?” Molly asked. “Remember, it'll be a whole year until you have them again.”

Richard eyed the plate, which had three pancakes left, and seriously considered it. Even as he was watching, Janaya snatched one off of the top.

After a moment, he said, “Yes, I'm sure. If I have one more, I might explode...then I'll never know what Santa brought me.”

“Santa!” Janaya said, waving her fork and splattering syrup. Then she used her other hand to poke Sara. “Hurry up and finish!”

“I'm almost done.” Sara was the slow eater of the family, but she had less on her plate than Janaya. Seeing that, the six year old picked up the last half of her pancake in her hand and shoved it into her mouth. Sara shrugged, picked up her own piece of pancake and did the same.

“I think a couple of little girls, who shall remain nameless, are ready for presents,” their mother said. “What do you think, Molly?”

“Presents!” Janaya's fork clattered into her plate and she was up and running for the living room.

Molly winked at her mother and asked, “Whatever gave you that idea?”

Richard laughed as he stood up to gather everyone's plates. After presents, he and Molly would wash the dishes while Janaya picked up the wrapping paper and Sara helped their mother make their Christmas dinner.

Sara got up from the table with a lot more decorum than her sister, but the excitement was dancing her her grey-blue eyes.

“Let's go, kid,” Molly told her, hooking an arm around the younger girl's shoulders.

“Let me escort you, my lady,” Richard said, offering his arm to his mother.

She gave him a tired but happy smile as she took it. Even at fourteen, Richard made her look small. He wasn't tall, but he was bulky, and hours of after school sports had given him both muscles and strength.

“A bike!” Sara was exclaiming as they entered the living room. She broke from Molly and rushed towards the tree. “Look, Jay. A bike. Is it mine?

The littlest girl was already peering at presents under the tree. She took the time to reach for the dangling tag.

“S...A...R...A. Yup. It's yours.”

“It's exactly the one I wanted.” She looked it all over, running her fingers along it. “Wow.”

“Can we start opening now, Mommy?” Janaya asked. “I found one with my name on it.”

“Sure.”

“But you know our rule,” Molly reminded her. She was referring not to one of their mother's rules, but to a rule she and Richard had made back when they were the only two children. It started because they had made something very special for their mother, and they wanted her to open it first. That had started a tradition, and the children always waited for their mother to open the first present to signal the official start.

Janaya picked her present up in her arms, but she didn't protest as Richard knelt under the tree to find a present for their mother to open.

Molly sat on the floor beside him and started sorting presents by name tag. Sara had climbed onto her bicycle and was spinning the pedals. She didn't look as if she intended to move any time soon.

“Ah, here's one,” Richard said. He noted the messy wrapping, the small hole on the side, and mountains of tape. “It says 'To Mom, from Janaya'. What do you think?”

“That sounds like one I'd very much like to open.” 

Richard turned and handed it to her with a wink. They all watched as she carefully took off the paper. Janaya fidgeted as she watched, shifting from foot to foot.

The paper was only half off when the doorbell rang. The family looked at one another in puzzlement. Who would be visiting at 7:30 on Christmas morning?

Richard had picked up a present to hold while he waited. It was a present from Molly, and its bumps and curves were intriguing. He put the present down and got to his feet.

“I'll get it. Go ahead and finish, Mom.”

As he walked down the hallway to the front door, a feeling of cold fear made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. His feet slowed and, by the time he approached the door, he had to force himself to put his hand on the knob. It was chilled and smooth, almost as if the winter outside had seeped into it. Richard hesitated.

“Who is it, Rich?” Molly's voice came, but it sounded further away than just down the hall.

“I don't know yet.”

Her voice gave him the courage to turn the knob. When he did, a blast of snow dusted his face, hair, and pajamas. It gummed his eyelashes so that he had to blink several times before he could see who was there.

It was a young woman with dark hair and mirthless eyes. Her face could have been carved from stone.

“Hello, Derek,” she said.

At the name, Richard's heart started thumping loudly, and he moved to quickly slam the door. Both her hand and her foot shot out and stopped it with an almost inhuman strength.

“You don't belong here,” she said. “Not anymore. This is not your life.”

Her breath was like frost as it caressed his face. He felt his cheeks grow numb, and icicles formed on his bangs. Water dripped from them but solidified before they could fall from his chilled flesh.

“No. You don't know me. I'm Richard Watson!”

“Richard Watson is dead. You are Derek Lloyd. I've come to take you away.”

He backed from the door, holding his hands between his body and hers. 

“I can't go with you. I'm not who you think I am. I'm Richard Watson...I'm Richard Watson!”

“Come.”

She placed her hand on his arm, and he felt the ice begin to spread. It froze his veins, his muscles, his organs...

“We will reach Chattrapathi Shivaji International Airport in one hour.”

Derek jerked awake. His breathing came in sharp gasps, and he shivered from head to toe. Something dripped down his forehead. It might have been sweat, but to him it felt like melting ice.

A stewardess was walking by so Derek stuck out a hand and caught her gently by the arm.

“Yes, sir?” she asked.

“Could I get a drink?”

“Certainly.”

XXX

Sydney angrily snapped her cell shut as she got the office answering machine for the fifth time.

“Where is she?” she demanded, pacing her hotel room. 

Nigel sat on her bed watching her warily. “Do you really want my opinion on that?”

She turned to him, her dark eyes snapping dangerously. Nigel clicked his teeth shut on the comment he was going to make.

“I know what you're thinking,” she stormed. “Patrick was arriving yesterday, and she'd better not have taken the day off to spend with him—not without either telling me or getting in a temp for the day. I mean, it would be different if I were there. Then I could answer the...”

She was cut off by her cell phone vibrating in her hand.

“Hello?...Oh, hi, Claudia...”

While Sydney was talking to their not quite as missing as they feared secretary, Nigel reached into his pack and took out Thomas's diary. It was too late to follow the sailor's jangled clues, but Nigel wanted to read some of them again anyway.

“Yes, Claudia...I know you like him...I'm glad he was interested in...You showed him the...? I'm sure you had a good time at...No, I don't think we'll be home by tomorrow to...Claudia, Claudia, slow down. I need to ask you...ahuh....ahuh...ahuh...”

Nigel kept one ear on Sydney's conversation as he reread the passage detailing Thomas's ambushing and mugging in Bombay. Thomas never knew who took The Book, but he sailed for North America the next day anyway.

“...There is nothing I can do now to prevent whatever disaster comes. I can just be aware that I tried to destroy the darkness. When I die, I will do so with a clear conscience. May whatever happens next fall on the shoulders of the man brave and foolhardy enough to steal my bag...”

Sydney was hoping that the local museum records from the time might give them some clues, and Nigel agreed. Something that may not have triggered enough raised eyebrows at the time might hold new possibilities now that Nigel and Sydney had read Thomas's journal. The entries had ended soon after the theft, as if he had really and truly washed his hands of the Book. Though the journal had nothing more to tell them, Nigel kept it in his pack for reference.

“All right, Claudia...Yes...Yes...Yes...No. Definitely not...Because...Okay. Bye.”

Sydney was rolling her eyes as she hung up the phone.

“So, where was she?” Nigel asked.

“Apparently, she...um...slept over at Patrick's hotel, and they forgot to set the alarm.”

“Typical Claudia.”

“Very. Apparently, Patrick also took a liking to some of our artifacts. She gave him a tour.”

“It'd have to be a small tour.”

Sydney laughed. “I think it was probably mostly just Claudia showing him the things in the office and bragging about how she helped us find them.”

“That might work if he doesn't ask her what they are.”

“She can be very inventive when she wants to be. Remember the Batu dance?”

It was Nigel's turn to laugh. “How could I forget? But she did, according to her, 'save your relic hunting ass'. So, what are we going to do tonight? It's too late to go to the museum.”

“Well, we know that Thomas was here when the journal was stolen. I thought we might take a walk through the city and get the layout of the land...so to speak.”

“You've never been to Mumbai?”

Sydney shook her head. “No. You?”

“Before I started working for you, the furthest I'd been from Britain was France and Spain on holiday when I was a child.”

“I've donated a couple of pieces to the Prince of Wales Museum, but that was all done through a third party. Are you ready?”

“Should we bring our bags?”

“I'll bring my satchel. You leave your pack here. We won't be long.”

“All righty.”

They went to the door and Sydney paused so Nigel could pass. She locked it and the two of them headed for the elevator. It was very crowded, and Nigel felt uncomfortable as he was jostled on all sides. He had a childlike desire to grab a hold of the back of Sydney's shirt so that he wouldn't lose her when the doors opened. Somebody was wearing a very spicy cologne, and Nigel had to hold his breath so he wouldn't sneeze.

When the doors opened, the people packed around him started pushing as they all tried to get out at once. Nigel winced as a particularly portly gentleman trod heavily on his foot. 

He hobbled a little as he went with the flow, starting slightly as someone plucked at his sleeve. He looked down to see very familiar, slim, brown fingers holding on to the material of his shirt.

“Where is everyone going at this time of the evening?” Nigel asked when it was just the two of them standing together once more.

“I have no...Oh, yes, I do.” Sydney loosed his sleeve and pointed to a nearby sign which announced some sort of soiree for anyone involved in the Marine Conservation Society conference.

“Oh, I see. Do you think they'll be having good food in there, Syd? We could always go in and declare we want to save the whales.”

“Nigel!” she said, looking both extremely shocked and extremely amused. “Are you suggesting we crash their party?”

“I believe I am. I think you're a bad influence on me.”

“Well, it's about time.”

Nigel was about to reply when he heard a slightly familiar voice say, “A little of both. And you?”

Frowning, he scanned the lobby. It was quite full, and he didn't see anyone familiar.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. I thought I heard someone I knew.”

“In Mumbai? Who?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. Anyway, I was mistaken. Let's go familiarize ourselves with the streets of Mumbai.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

XXX

Nigel was still yawning when they got to the museum the next morning. Sydney looked at him askance, wondering if she should have let him have that cup of coffee he wanted before they left the hotel. She had felt so wired already, as she always did on the hunt, that she didn't want to stop for anything.

Nigel still seemed a little reluctant to search for the relic, even though it was thousands of years old. She knew he was nervous about the potential catastrophic effect the Book had the power to unleash. Sydney, though, couldn't help but believe the Book would be a wonderful addition to the Queen of Death artifacts...as long as the proper precautions were taken.

“You all right?” she asked him as she retrieved a large book from the shelf.

“I don't know if I'll ever get used to all these time changes.” He yawned again. Loudly.

“You're doing fine, Nigel.”

“I don't feel too fine this morning. My body thinks it's ten pm.”

“We'll get you some coffee when we leave, I promise. These are the documents from the 1800s. Grab one and start looking for mischief, death, and mayhem.”

“Do you think it will be any particular brand of mischief, death, and mayhem?”

“Probably power hunger and unexplainable corpses, the same as Thomas found on the Morning Star...or that he created himself later for that matter. Trust your instincts and you'll know it when you see it.”

“Great advice,” somebody rumbled from behind a nearby bookshelf.

Sydney shared a puzzled look with Nigel and gently placed her book on a nearby table. Moving around the corner of the bookcase, she came across another table. This one had a man sitting with his back to her.

“You know, Sydney, I've been looking through these dusty books for over an hour, and all I've found is a headache.”

The man turned casually and looked at her with piercing and hooded blue-grey eyes. She drew her breath in slightly as a flutter went through her belly. His face was very familiar and so was his very enticing and masculine scent. She didn't know whether she liked the man, but she could not deny that she found him more than a little attractive.

“Derek Lloyd! What are you doing here?” Then she made a face. “Or should I say Richard Watson?”

His slouched form straightened at this, and he set his jaw. Something dangerous went through his eyes as he coldly said, “Richard Watson is dead. He was killed by a rogue agent while pursuing the Paracelcius Scrolls.”

“Uhuh. I see. Well, Sydney Fox is very much alive, and she wants to know what brings you to Mumbai. When I left you last, you told me you were seriously considering staying in Peru.”

“I had a change of heart. Hi, Nigel. Nice to see you.”

Nigel smiled and gave a slight wave. Sydney was sure he was still a little bit frightened of the CIA agent. Some of his nervousness showed on his face.

“Don't change the subject. Why are you in Mumbai, and why, more importantly, are you in this museum...at the exact same time as Nigel and I?”

“It's pretty simple, Sydney. I want the Lost Book. Actually, the Agency wants to study the Book, so they sent me. They saw your little find in Nova Scotia, and I'm not talking about a headless nun. One of our historians has long theorized that the captain of the Mary Catherine was the real last known holder of the Book. I've been sent to discover the truth of this and, if I can, to find the Book. My best bet was to follow you.”

“It was you I heard in the lobby last night,” Nigel said excitedly.

“That's right. Royal Hotel. Just down the hall.”

Sydney crossed her arms. “I am not letting you give something as potentially dangerous as The Lost Book to the CIA.”

“I knew you would say that.”

“Good, because it's true.”

“Then I have a proposition for you.”

She leaned against a bookshelf and eyed him warily. Just because he had done the right thing on their last mission together didn't mean he would this time. She did not trust him. At least not much. “Start talking.”

“I need The Book to prove my loyalty. My little side trip to Stanton's villa shook their confidence in me. I want to at least find the Book. Take pictures of it. Document it.” Then, he gave a sly little smile. “But who's to say you can't double cross me and steal it?”

Sydney raised an eyebrow. “The CIA would never go for that.”

“If it winds up in a museum before they find you, what are they going to do? Start an international incident? They didn't come after you the last time, did they?”

“No,” she admitted.

“And I can stop them again. Look, I'll give you something to show I'm sincere.”

The agent bent and hooked a bag at his feet. He unsnapped and then unzipped the top. His hand snaked inside and fished around for a moment before coming out with a round case. He held it out to Sydney, his face unreadable.

She took it gingerly from his fingers, hoping it wouldn't explode. “What is this?”

He just looked at her steadily. She felt more than heard Nigel come up behind her to peer around her shoulder. His breath was hot on her arm. Curiously, and still carefully, she took the top off of the case and looked inside. There sat the other Paracelcius Scroll. 

“Derek, you know I can't take this. You were supposed to hide it.”

“I couldn't think of anywhere safe enough. I don't know what to do with it.”

“Do they know you have this?”

He shook his head. “I told them the rebels stole it. And that your half was never found.”

Sydney made a quick decision as she was putting the cover back on. “All right, I'll trust you for now. Just remember, the Book can't be controlled, and it destroys those that it kills for.”

He frowned. “Isn't it just instructions for a weapon?”

Sydney shook her head, a smile dancing across her lips. “You should know more about the things you look for. It's not instructions for a weapon—it is a weapon.”

“I don't understand.”

“You don't need to. Just know, it destroys the person who uses it.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

She pointed to a seat beside Derek, and Nigel immediately took it. She took one on the other side of the table.

“So, you said you've been here an hour. What were you looking for?”

“Oh.” Derek motioned to the book in front of him. “War and mass death.”

“Did you see anything about bodies that looked as if they just fell dead? No wounds or signs of distress?”

“Nothing like that.”

“Okay, which books were you reading?”

“Just these two here, so far.”

“All right. Nigel, I want you to go to the library and look in their archives. I'm going to stay here with Derek.”

“Me?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Her assistant sighed and looked put upon. “All right.”

“Happy, Nigel. You should be happy. A lost relic, remember?”

“I just don't like this relic, Syd. I'm sorry, but I don't.”

She reached out and gently touched his hand. “It'll be okay. Trust me.”

“You know I do.” Then he nodded at Derek. “See you later.”

“Bye, Nige.”

“Call me in a couple of hours,” she instructed, “and we'll compare notes.”

“Okay, Syd.” 

He left, still looking far from happy.

XXX

Derek Lloyd looked up from the book he was supposed to be studying, though he still had no idea what he was searching for. He had been doing that a lot. The woman across the table fascinated him, and he found he couldn't help himself.

She looked so serious sitting there and running her fingers down the pages of book after book. A pair of small, square glasses had been produced from the depths of her satchel and were perched studiously on the end of her nose. Her hair was pulled back in a simple braid, and the tail of it hung enticingly over one shoulder. Her clothes were a weird combination of comfort and the practicality, one that probably wouldn't have worked on anyone else. The skin of her arms was browned bronze from time in the sun, and her hands were long and delicate. As she read, she bit her lip in concentration. 

Derek thought she was beautiful, though she was nowhere near his usual type. He usually liked them small and sweet and lady like. Sydney was definitely not lady like, but she was most definitely an attractive and desirable woman. He couldn't help but watch her and wonder what the soft skin at the base of her throat tasted like and what her soft curves would feel like beneath his questing fingers. Yes, he would definitely go there if she offered. Of course, if she did, it wouldn't last. It was impossible for people on the Green List to have a normal life. Their lives belonged to the Agency until they died. Even retirement wasn't an option. 

Besides, he knew, even if Sydney and Nigel didn't, that she was falling in love with her assistant. Not only that, Nigel was already deeply in love with her. They might not realize yet, and they might not for some time, but Derek could see the signs. They were in the way that Sydney protected and cared for Nigel. How gently she touched him when they needed to touch. Derek could see how, in dangerous situations, her thoughts always went to Nigel first. As for Nigel, the only reason Sydney had for not seeing the devotion shining from his eyes was that she spent so much time with him that it had blinded her. Some day the two of them were going to find their way to each other, but Derek didn't think it was going to be for a long time yet. In the meantime, if Sydney even gave him the slightest clue that she'd like to have a fling with him, Derek would give her all he was allowed to give.

As if feeling his eyes on her, Sydney glanced up. “What?”

“Did you find anything yet?”

“No. You?”

He frowned down at his book. He hadn't really been reading it for more than ten minutes. “No.”

“There's still lots of material to go through. I'm finished this book. Hand me another.”

Obediently, he turned back towards the shelf and picked a book at random. “Do you really think we'll find anything?”

“It's all we have to go on,” she told him, grunting a little as she took the thick and heavy book. “There are no other clues in the journal. It was stolen in Bombay. That's where the trail ends.”

“Does he describe the thief?”

“No, but I don't think that would really help us anyway.”

Her eyes went back to her book so Derek did the same. After a moment, Sydney said, “Hmmn.”

“Hmmn?” Derek asked.

“Yeah. I think I might have found something.”

“What kind of something?”

“Well, in 1819, the death rate went up dramatically, but only for the one year.”

“Do you think it could have been the Book?”

Sydney shrugged. “I don't know, but it's a place to start.”

“Which is more than we had before.”

“Exactly.”

Her phone rang, shrilly disturbing their conversation. Derek looked at his watch and guessed it might be Nigel.

“Yeah?” Sydney said by way of answering. “Hey, Nige. Did you find anything?...Really? Where's that?...Great. See if you can find anything else. We'll meet you at the hotel in three hours...All right...Me? Just that there was an unusual number of deaths in 1819...1820-1825? That can't be a coincidence...Okay. Gotta go. Three hours...Yup...Yup...Yup...Bye.”

Derek watched her closely as she hung up the phone and saw an excited sparkle in her eye.

“What'd he say?”

“He said that there were four villages, all in the same area, that were completely wiped out by a mysterious plague in the years between 1820 and 1825. The bodies were described as peacefully lying there with no signs of distress. The only village near the others to survive was a place called Karifa. I think the Lost Book somehow traveled from Bombay to that village.”

It sounded like a safe bet to Derek. “So, we head to Karifa?”

She nodded. “Unless we find something to dispute it.”

XXX

When Sydney and Derek arrived back at the hotel, Nigel was waiting for them in the lobby. He was sitting in a chair fidgeting, with his pack on his back and photocopied sheets in his hands. Sydney spotted him as soon as she entered, despite the hotel's crowded state, and elbowed Derek.

“There.”

The agent grunted. She glanced at him, but his face was as unreadable as always. She remembered returning the Paracelsius Scroll to him and wondered if she had made a mistake. Somehow, she didn't think she had. For one thing, she could never take the scroll. It would be way too dangerous to have them together or to have one person—or two, if she included Nigel in her confidence—knowing where both of the scrolls were. For another, she trusted Derek to find a place for it where no one would ever find it. Maybe she shouldn't, since she really didn't trust him for anything else, but she did. And in their time in the archives, she had decided that she probably did like him after all.

“Come on.”

They made their way across the lobby towards Nigel, who was still completely unaware of their presence. 

When they got close enough to be heard, Sydney called, “Nigel!”

His head snapped up and he scanned the room quickly. She made it easier for him by waving. He saw her hand and their eyes met.

Nigel smiled slightly and jumped to his feet, scattering a few of the pages he had been clutching. His cheeks pinkened and he dropped to the floor and started gathering them.

Derek hurried forward and started helping him scoop the papers up. Sydney was suddenly treated to two very enjoyable back views.

“Thanks,” Nigel said shyly as the papers were retrieved in an unfortunately short amount of time.

“Not a problem, my friend,” Derek said, placing a hand briefly on Nigel's shoulder. The CIA agent sounded almost warm. 

Sydney thought back to their last meeting. At the time, Derek wasn't too impressed with Nigel, though his feelings had seemed to change some by the end of their adventure. She hoped he wasn't just being nice to achieve some advantage in the hunt ahead. Nigel trusted too easily, and he deserved better than a cold betrayal from someone he admired or liked.

“Did you find anything else, Nigel?” she asked him, pushing her conscience to the back of her mind.

“Nothing that seemed relevant. You?”

“Me neither,” she admitted. “One year was just too short a window. Hopefully, we'll have better luck in Karifa.”

“Well, the village is quite a few hours away from here. I've marked the location on this map.” Nigel started leafing through the sheaf of papers in his hand. 

“Great. You and Derek pack up, and I'll go see about finding us a car.”

“Okay, Syd.”

She left the two of them making their way companionably to the elevator. As she turned to go, she found herself suddenly enveloped in something warm and firm and her head rang as it solidly connected with what felt like a brick wall.

“Oomph!”

“Pardon me,” a smooth and soft voice said next to her ear.

Sydney tried to blink away stars as she pushed away from the person she had run into. The sensation of silk tickled against her palms.

“Are you hurt?” the voice asked.

Sydney shook her head slightly, checking to see if any of her marbles had been knocked loose. “I don't think so.”

There was concern on the man's face when she finally focused on it. She also noticed that he was unbelievably handsome. Hair even darker and more lustrous than hers was pulled up into a severe ponytail, and perfect teeth flashed at her when he spoke again.

“That was very clumsy of me. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I'm the one who practically bulldozed you.”

He laughed easily at this, and his amber eyes danced. “A woman as beautiful as you always has the right of way.”

It was a horrible line, but it was said so warmly that Sydney could not help but smile.

“No harm done, anyway. I didn't hurt you, did I?”

“No, you didn't hurt me.”

“Well, good.” She stared at him a moment before remembering what she was doing. “I've got to go. I really am sorry.”

“How often does a man get run over by a very attractive woman? Think nothing of it.”

“If you say it's been a pleasure, I'll really know you're full of it.”

“Then I'll just say I hope to run into you again sometime.”

She groaned and rolled her eyes before continuing her journey to the front desk. She could feel his eyes following her the whole way. It was rather flattering.

She wondered if Nigel and Derek would mind if she brought the hunky North American businessman with them for the ride.


	7. Chapter 6

Night had fallen while they drove over the rutted dirt roads towards the remote village of Karifa. Sydney was at the wheel and Derek sat beside her in the front seat. Nigel sat quietly in the back, and she wondered if he had fallen asleep.

There was very little traffic on the road, and it was a particularly dark night. Beside her, Derek had been mostly silent, patiently waiting until it was his turn to drive. He sat, gnawing on a fingernail and staring out into the darkness. His mind seemed to be miles away. For not the first time that day, she wondered what had made him go back to the Agency when he was sure it would mean his death. She also wondered how sincere he was in his promise to leave the Book with her.

It bothered her a bit how easily she had come to accept his company when she didn't know his real motives. Derek was a complex man with multiple names and multiple personalities. She had seen him both ruthless and kind and she knew that both of these were inherent parts of him.

"So, what are you going to do with your scroll?" she asked him, more to break the silence than anything else.

"I still don't know," he admitted. "I couldn't just leave it in Stanton's villa..."

"Not your villa?" she commented archly.

"No, not mine. Not really." A chill came to his voice.

"Sorry, go on."

"I knew they'd search the place as soon as I left. I decided to carry it with me. That's as safe a place as any."

"You can't carry it around forever."

"You could leave it here in India," Nigel suggested, poking his head between the seats and showing he hadn't been sleeping after all.

"That is an idea," Derek admitted, flicking his eyes to the younger man.

"With the scrolls spread so far apart, no one is likely to find them—at least not together."

"I don't know where I'm going to hide it, but I'll know it when I see it."

"Fair enough," Sydney agreed. "I'm sorry if keeping them from the Agency got you in trouble, but you know it was for the best."

He shrugged. "Water under the bridge, Syd."

Sydney grew silent again as they hit a particularly rough patch in the road. She was thrown forward against the steering wheel, and Nigel was left scrabbling at the seats so he wouldn't fall between them. She was then jostled roughly to the side, where her body connected with both Derek's and Nigel's.

"Oomph," her assistant said softly.

"Hey, if you wanted to get closer, all you had to do was ask," Derek said in amusement, right before another bump knocked them all the other way. His elbow caught Sydney slightly in the ribs, and Nigel's cheek connected with her head.

"Urgh," he groaned.

"Are you all right, Nigel?"

"That depends on whether or not I've still got all my teeth."

"Well, sit back. I think the ruts in this road have ruts."

Obediently, he settled against the backseat, and Derek put his hand on the dash to steady himself. Sydney winced as the next bump made her knee connect with the steering column.

"I don't suppose road inspectors get out this way often," Nigel commented.

"This isn't a road," Sydney growled. "It's a path."

It would have helped if the night wasn't so dark. Unfortunately, it was overcast, and only a couple of the heartier stars fought their way through the gloom. It was like driving in pitch.

"Do you want me to take over?" Derek asked.

"No, I can go a little longer." Sydney peered out into the darkness.

Suddenly, the car made a crazy dip and stopped moving.

"What's happened? Why have we stopped?" Nigel was quick to ask.

"I'm not sure," Sydney said, giving a little more gas with her foot.

Rrrrrrr, the car went. Rrrrrr.

"It's the wheels," Derek announced. "We're stuck."

"Stuck?" Nigel put his head between the seats once more. "What do you mean stuck?"

"I mean, the last hole we drove into was a muck pit, and now the wheels are spinning."

Sydney frowned. She tried easing up and bearing down several times, hoping the wheels would catch. Unfortunately, they just kept on spinning.

"Damn!" she swore, smacking the steering wheel with the palm of her hand.

"What are we going to do?" she heard the fear in Nigel's voice.

She opened her mouth to answer when Derek interrupted her. "Sydney and I will push. You press the gas when we say go."

"I can do that."

Nigel opened his door and got out of the car, so Sydney did the same. Derek wasn't far behind.

"Do you think this will work?" Nigel asked as he and Sydney changed places.

"Sure it will." It had to.

He accepted this and slipped into the front seat while Sydney joined Derek behind the car.

"This is just what we needed," Sydney sighed, curling up her nose at the thought of hunkering down behind the car and pushing when she was so tired.

"It's going to be okay," Derek said. He had a very nice voice when it wasn't hardened from his tough guy act.

"Okay?" Nigel asked from the front. "Here goes."

Sydney only had time to blink and open her mouth as she realized what was going to happen. The car suddenly came to life, the wheels spinning wildly. Globes of mud flew up from the tires, flinging themselves gleefully towards Sydney and Derek. The first hit her in the nose with a heavy splat before the thick rain of mud spattered her whole body.

She closed her eyes, feeling the wet mud hit her face and begin to slide jerkily down her skin like filthy tears. Bits of it touched her mouth and made its way through her slightly parted lips to her tongue.

It rained upon the bare skin of her arms and down the front of her vest and pants. It clung to her hair, and she could feel it seeping through to her scalp. Pieces of the gooey stuff made its way down her forehead to tickle her eyelids and join the other tracks on her cheeks.

"Nigel!" Derek bellowed. "Nigel, stop!"

"Huh? What is it?" Nigel asked. Sydney opened her eyes to slits to see him sticking his head out the window. When he saw the state they were in, he hastily took his foot off the gas. "Are you...Are you okay? Why did you stop pushing?"

Sydney grimaced and spat mud onto the ground. Grit coated her tongue and made it hard to remember that Nigel thought he was helping.

"If you do that again, my friend, I will shoot you," Derek said calmly.

The sight of the agent beside her lightened Sydney's mood considerably. He was even more filthy than she was, if that were possible, and mud dripped from both his hair and his nose. His white t-shirt could no longer claim that color, and the brown dots on his black jeans made it look as if he had been painting. Even in such dim light, his grey-blue eyes shown brightly from the muddy mess his face had become.

Nigel paled. "What...what do you mean? You told me to press the gas. Are you all right?"

"We're fine, Nigel, but next time you might want to check that we are actually pushing first."

"I thought I heard you say okay."

Suddenly, Derek grinned, startling Sydney. "And so I did, and in a minute, I'll say it again. Come on, Sydney."

Without argument, she stood beside him with her hands on the cool trunk of the car. Mud had also made its way there and it mingled with the mud already on her skin.

She found a firm piece of ground under the mud and braced her feet against it.

"Okay, Nigel," she called.

"Okay just a minute, or okay okay?" he asked.

She groaned. "Okay, push the damned gas!"

The car lurched under her hands, and Sydney almost fell against it. More mud flew up from the wheels, but she ignored it. She could hear Derek grunting beside her, showing he was giving as much as she was.

The car rocked several times, trying its best to escape the quagmire.

"Come on, come on..." Sydney chanted.

Then, suddenly, the car gave an extra loud roar and lurched forward, its wheels finally catching on something solid. It happened so fast that Sydney stumbled and would have fallen face first into the mud if not for Derek's firm hand on her arm.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

She took her hand and swiped it down her face, flinging mud away.

 

"Don't look so disgusted," Derek told her. "Some women pay good money for that kind of treatment."

"Oh, ha ha."

Nigel had stopped the car several feet away, and Sydney made her way carefully towards it through the gook. Derek, unmindful of the mess, stomped through, splashing water and grime everywhere. He got to the car first and wordlessly slipped beside Nigel. Sydney didn't feel much like arguing, so she wearily climbed into the backseat, wishing she carried a towel in her satchel.

Nigel looked at Derek warily, then he looked at Sydney. She shrugged. Nigel took this as a sign to carry on, so he started the car crawling along the rut filled track laughingly called a road. Trusting her assistant to get them to the village in one piece, Sydney leaned back and closed her eyes. It had been a really long day.

XXX

They were lucky in that the village had a small inn to house visitors. They were unlucky to find that said hotel was rough and tumbledown, with a moldy, sagging roof, and cracked and broken wooden siding. Sydney would almost have rather stayed the night in the car, but she told neither man that as they approached the front door.

The village was bigger than Sydney expected. Cows and dogs wandered down the narrow dirt streets. Barefoot children played amongst them, kicking rocks and calling to each other. The town was almost as dingy and rundown as the inn.

"This looks promising," Sydney said, forcing cheer.

"Let's find the Book and get out of here," Derek said, looking around furtively.

"At least there's a bed."

"I'd rather sleep in the car," Nigel grumbled, showing that Sydney wasn't the only one to feel that way.

The CIA Agent clapped Nigel on the shoulder and said, "Don't worry, Nigel. Grime is good for you."

"Well," Sydney admitted, reaching to open the door, "at least I don't think I can get any dirtier."

The globs of mud from earlier had dried and the remnants pulled at her skin when she moved. Her clothes felt like they had been sprayed on, and her hair was stiff and scraggly.

The interior of the inn was dark, dingy, and quiet. The only light bulb in the lobby flickered dangerously.

"Are you sure we need sleep?" Nigel asked.

"Don't be silly. I'm sure the beds are fine. Besides, what are we going to find in the middle of the night?"

"Maybe there is a ghost we could talk to."

"Actually, I'd like to talk to some of the elders in town to see what they know."

"I don't suppose there are records in a place like this."

Sydney shrugged. "I don't know. I'm sure the clerk will help us...if we can find the clerk."

Derek pushed past them and strode purposefully to the desk. It listed sideways as if the small book and even smaller bell it held were almost too much for it to bear. The agent brought his palm down on the bell firmly. It rang loudly in the silence.

A door near the desk opened, and an elderly man shuffled out. Sydney thought he might just be the oldest man she had ever seen. His face was a mass of wrinkles, and he walked bent over. His hair was snow white.

"Hello," his English was heavily accented but understandable.

"We need three rooms," Derek said shortly.

"Three?" The old man was still making his way towards the desk.

"Yes, three."

"Three...we should have three. We don't get many visitors out this way."

"Really?" Nigel asked with just a hint of sarcasm. Sydney gently put her elbow in his stomach.

"We've come to research the history of your town," she told the old man. "We're historians, and we've discovered something interesting, so we came to check it out. Are there any records or archives from about a hundred and eighty years ago?"

The innkeeper frowned. "There are no written records here."

"None at all?"

"Most of the villagers do not read and write. Our history is an oral one."

"Then, maybe you can tell us what we want to know."

"I have lived here my whole life," he admitted.

"Great. Have you got a few minutes?"

"Yes, I can take a bit of time." He motioned towards a ragged seating area near the lobby's only window. "Come."

Sydney raised an eyebrow at Derek, who replied with a curt nod. Nigel was already following the old man. His hands kept twitching as if he were afraid the innkeeper would fall and he'd have to catch him.

"My name," he said, "is Naasih Bonjani."

"I'm Sydney Fox, and these are my colleagues, Derek Lloyd and Nigel Bailey."

Bonjani teetered as he took a rickety chair. Dust billowed up from it, even with his slight weight. It tickled Sydney's eyes and nose, and she had to make a valiant effort not to sneeze.

Nigel turned away, his face going through several contortions as he attempted not to cough. He was less successful than Sydney, and he shook with their violence.

Derek sat beside the man, his face and eyes severe. Sydney wished he'd take his intensity down a notch. She didn't want to frighten their only lead.

"As I was saying," she continued softly, "While doing some research in Mumbai, my colleagues and I came across something fascinating. Did you know that two hundred years ago, there were five villages in this area rather than one, but that four of them died out of a mysterious and deadly plague? Have you heard of this plague, Mr. Bonjani?"

The ancient man's rheumy eyes focused on her, and it was suddenly as if Derek and Nigel didn't exist. They gripped and held her like a physical restraint.

"There was no plague," he said.

"No plague?" she breathed, still caught up in his gaze. "Then how do you explain all those deaths? People don't just drop dead without a reason."

"Child, there is always a reason. Sometimes it is not one that a brain will believe. That does not make it any less real. There are some things we refuse to see."

"What do you mean, Mr. Bonjani? I would really like to know."

He dropped his eyes, loosing their hold on her. "There was a story, one my grandfather told me. Though young people today believe they are too sophisticated to trust the ramblings of wise old men, in my day we knew that truth fell from their lips."

Sydney leaned forward in her chair. "What was it that your grandfather told you about the plague? What was the truth?"

"The plague was caused by a man. A mortal man who had stolen the power of the gods. Kali herself gave the man a Book containing all of her secrets."

"A Book?" Derek demanded. "What kind of Book?"

The old man didn't even look at the agent. Instead, he continued talking to Sydney. "It was the Book of Death, and wherever the man took it, people died."

"He came to Karifa, the village of his birth, and built himself a house here. He bragged about the Book and what it could do. The people didn't believe him—until they started to die.

'They went to the evil man and begged him to stop, and he did, for a price. He became the leader of the village, and the people within it became his servants. Together, they used the Book to take all they could from the nearby villages. When there was no more to take, the villages were destroyed.

'There was a man here in Karifa. A good man named Karifa Radha Radhatanaya who was not ensnared by the evil of the Book. He alone saw what was happening and longed to right the wrongs his brothers and sisters were committing. Alone, he took on the man who held the Book, the man whose name has purposefully been forgotten. Radhatanaya won the fight, and he killed his nemesis. The evil spell fell away from the village, and the villagers spent the rest of their lives in atonement."

"The Book," Nigel asked eagerly, "what happened to the Book?"

"It was lost."

"Lost?" Derek asked. "This Radhatanaya just left a potentially dangerous weapon for someone else to find?"

"No one knows what Radhatanaya did with the Book. Some believe Kali took it back the moment her evil minion died."

"Do you know if the evil man's house is still standing?" Sydney asked.

"No...No, it was ruined long ago, but the foundation is still there. He build with stone. Why do you ask?"

"I'd like to see where this all took place. The story is so fascinating."

He reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "You must be careful."

"Don't worry." She smiled. "We will be. We have no intention of unleashing the Book's fury."


	8. Chapter 7

The rooms were just as small and dingy as the lobby. Sydney had stayed in worse places but, somehow, with the stark reality right there in front of her, she couldn't remember when. Still, it was a place to sleep, and she could feel fatigue creeping up on her.

Nigel, for once, went into his room without complaint. His own eyelids were drooping, and his face was slack.

“Good night, Nige!” she called after him.

“Night, Syd,” he replied. At least that's what she thought he said. It was hard to tell around his yawn.

Derek came into her room behind her. She heard him as she put her bag on the end of her bed. Curiously, she turned.

“I just wanted to thank you, Syd, for not rejecting me when I told you why I'd come. The Agency...Well, let's just say they had a persuasive way of bringing me back.” Something moved in his usually hard and expressionless eyes. “I don't agree with what they want, but I have to do what they ask.”

She searched his face, searching for any more hints behind and beyond what he was saying. It was still as unreadable as stone.

“No problem. But, if we find it, the Book is going with us. If it really has all that power—and Bonjani's story suggests that it does, it can't be given to someone who's going to use it...under any circumstances. You've got to know that.”

“Once,” he said, a bare hint of a smile touching the corner of his mouth, “I didn't believe in looking beyond my own need to know. The rest of the world could go to hell. I think a little differently now.”

She nodded to the bulge in the band of his jeans. “But you still carry a gun.”

“I still want to survive.”

Sydney had to give him that. The life of a spy, while maybe not more dangerous than that of a good relic hunter, was certainly more complicated. She didn't like guns, but she could admit to herself that he might need one.

“Don't we all? See you in the morning.”

He looked as if he were about to say something else but, after a heartbeat, he just turned and walked out.

“Good night, Sydney.”

She closed the door after him, puzzling over what he didn't say more than what he did. She wondered what kind of hold the Agency had over him, and she wondered what his exact orders were—and whether he'd really try to get around them. Now that she knew she actually liked the agent, she didn't want to have to fight him for the Lost Book.

She rinsed off most of the grime in highly questionable water, deciding not to chance a shower. Looking at the bed afterward, she briefly considered slipping inside. Just thinking about getting in between the sheets in this place made her skin crawl. Instead, she would be sleeping on top with her own shirt as a pillow.

The decision made, she took out her phone to call home before settling in to go to sleep.

It only rang twice before Claudia's chipper voice announced, “Ancient Studies.”

“Hey, Claudia, it's me.”

“Syd, hi! How are things going in...wherever you are?”

“It's India, and things are fine.”

“Did you find the book thing?”

“No, not yet. We're in a little village called Kalifa, and there's a good chance we might find the relic, or at least what's happened to it, tomorrow. Of course, the fact that Derek Lloyd has shown up complicates things a little.”

“Derek Lloyd...Derek Lloyd...I know that name.”

“It doesn't matter.” Sydney waved this away as if Claudia were in the room with her. "How are things there? Is there anything I should know?”

“My date with Patrick was amazing. I can't believe how in sync we are. Oh, my God.”

“You'll have to tell him hello for me.”

“I would, but I can't. He left yesterday. Some big meeting or something.”

“That's a shame, Claudia. Anything else? Anything school related?”

“No, I don't think so. Well, you got a bunch of messages, but I don't think any of them are really important. Do you want me to read them to you?”

“No. I'll read them when I get back. You're sure everything's okay?”

“I said they were fine.”

“All right. All right. Call me if something urgent comes up.”

“Will do. Is there anything else you need?”

“No, I...”

“Hey!” Claudia interrupted, “Derek Lloyd! Secret Agent Man! Secret Agent Man is with you in India? Are sparks flying? Did he kiss you? What's going on?”

“Nothing's going on, Claudia. Pick your mind up out of the gutter. He's just got an interest in the relic.”

She sighed. “That's a shame. He's hot.”

Sydney rolled her eyes. “He's also annoying. Listen, I'm heading to bed now. I just wanted to check in. I'll call you tomorrow.”

“All right. Sweet dreams.”

“Behave yourself. Good-bye.”

XXX

“...Richard...”

The voice called for him. He heard it faintly, like a whisper on the wind. Even so, he knew the voice. It was as familiar to him as his own face.

“...Richard, help me.”

He sprang to his feet, looking frantically around. Derek needed him. He had to save him. He couldn't fail. Not again.

The room he was in was square and glaringly white. Four doors were embedded in the walls, and the only piece of furniture was the hard marble slab Richard had been lying on. It gleamed whiter than the walls.

“...Richard...I need you...”

Which door to take? Richard glared at each one with unconcealed hatred burning in his eyes. They were all alike, and there was no way to tell which one would lead him to his friend.

With little time to choose, he randomly took the one closest to him. He ran through it and into a darkened hallway. There were no lights and, when the door behind him slammed shut, it was impossible to see. Still, he ran. Frantically. Desperately. He could still hear Derek calling his name.

Richard suddenly stumbled. He reached out a hand to steady himself on the wall. There was nothing there, and he fell heavily to his knees. Pain ripped through them. It felt as if he had fallen on gravel and not smooth stone. His elbows hit just an instant later, jarring so bad that his teeth and jaw vibrated. He heard cloth rip, smelled fresh blood.

Shakily, he pushed himself to his feet. His legs trembled from the shock of their connection with the floor. Still, he had no time to contemplate his injuries. He had to get to Derek in time.

When he began to move again, it was more of a careful jog than a run. He closed his eyes to concentrate on moving his legs because it was easier than staring into the pitch black.

Suddenly, more pain hit him as his body slammed into something solid. He bounced back and almost fell again.

Stunned, at first he couldn't even comprehend what had happened. All he knew was that he had just proven Isaac Newton's first law. A body in motion will remain in motion until acted upon by an outside force. This flitted through his mind before he stepped forward with arms outstretched to feel the barrier.

It was very solid and cool and smooth to the touch. It was so smooth and cool that it was probably metal. His questing fingers found something round that his mind told him was a doorknob. He grasped it and turned.

Blinding light stabbed into his eyes, making him throw his arms in front of them for protection. Tears welled up and spilled down his cheeks. The pain mingled with the throbbing in his knees and elbows. The pain didn't matter, though, because now Derek's voice was louder. It was now voicing wordless screams, but Richard could tell he was getting closer.

He dug his palms into his eyes to free them from the last of the tears. Blinking, he noticed that his new room was to light what the hallway was to dark. Even though his eyes were adjusting, it was still hard to see.

The light seemed to be coming from above, so he dropped his gaze and gasped. At his feet yawned a chasm so deep that he could not see the bottom. Across its expanse was a narrow stone bridge that reached up from the unimaginable depths. It was barely two feet wide, so if he lost his balance or placed a step wrong, he would go tumbling to his death.

Richard drew in his breath, wondering if he were brave enough to chance it. Then his friend screamed again, making up his mind. He would not be too late again.

The bridge didn't start at the edge of the chasm. Instead, to gain access to it, Richard had to jump about four feet. And, he had to make sure he landed in a way that didn't overbalance and throw him off the side.

The danger of it made his heart thump loudly against his ribs. He clenched his teeth and made his breathing slow, knowing concentration was the only chance he had.

Taking one more deep breath, he tensed and leaped. He was only in the air for a tenth of a second, but it seemed to take years. He had time to look down into the gaping maw and time to wonder if he were already dead and all that was left was the fall.

Then, feet hit stone, and his body went forward. Frantically, he fought to balance, moving both his arms and his legs. After a moment, he stabilized and stood as still as the stone under him. A trickle of sweat tickled as it made its way down his nose. He didn't even dare to move to wipe it away.

But he couldn't remain like that forever. Slowly, he started moving forward, feeling with his feet and balancing with his arms. He swallowed hard and tried to think only of putting one foot in front of the other.

There was a rumble behind him, and the whole bridge began to shake. He could hear stone tumbling over one another as the bridge began to crumble. 

“Shit!” he swore, picking up his pace. Soon, he was running across the stone, his feet barely touching. He was sure he'd take a wrong step and slip.

Somehow, he made it to the other side. As he did, morbid curiosity made him turn. It was just in time to see the last of the bridge disintegrate and collapse.

Another door awaited him on this side, and it was easy now to tell that Derek's screams came from beyond it. Richard grabbed the knob and tried to turn it, but he couldn't. The damn thing was locked. For a moment, he stood staring at it in horror. Then he reached into the band of his pants and drew his gun. He hadn't noticed it waiting there for him before. Instead, it had been dormant and comforting. Without hesitation, Richard began to fire at the knob. The shots rang loudly in the cavern, their echoes almost deafening.

They chipped steadily away at both the door and the doorknob until the later was broken and the former creaked open just a hair. Richard stopped firing at that point and reached forward to push.

On the other side of the door was a flight of winding stairs. He put his gun back behind his belt and started to climb. The stairs were made of wood, worn and smooth from the passage of people. He could even see a slight dent in each step where footsteps had fallen over and over. Unwilling to walk where his friend's torturers had, Richard walked to the side of these depressions.

He hadn't gone up too many of the steps when he realized something was wrong. At first, he wasn't sure what it was. His body tightened and his hands gripped the railing as he stopped to figure it out.

Silence surrounded him. The only sound in the stairway was his heavy, frightened breathing. Derek's screams had stopped.

“No,” Richard said softly, then he let out a yell that bounced off the walls and shattered the silence like glass. “No!”

He pushed off of the railing and began to run. Stair steps flew beneath his feet. They creaked in protest, but whether at his weight or his speed, he couldn't tell. He ran until his legs were sore, and still he didn't slow.

At the top of the steps was another door. This one was huge and ornately carved. It was made of cherry wood and polished until it gleamed. Its border and some of the detail on the carvings were outlined in black paint, and some of the scenes looked real enough to move.

It might have been beautiful, but to Richard it was just another barrier.

“Derek!” he called, “Derek!”

There was no answering yell. 

Richard kicked at the door. It trembled but otherwise didn't move. In rage, he kicked at it again and again. He lost count of how many times he had to lash out before the door gave in and slammed open.

“Derek, where are you?”

He rushed into the room, hauling out his gun as he did so. His eyes darted into nooks and crannies, searching everywhere someone could hide. The room was empty. There was no one—at least no one living.

Richard stumbled forward, letting the gun slip from limp fingers. He didn't even hear the thump as it hit the thickly carpeted floor.

Derek's body lay staring up at the ceiling. His eyes, full of accusation, were otherwise dull and lifeless. He was naked, and blood covered his skin. It coated thickly, and it dripped like tears. His hair was darkened by it; his body clothed with it.

There were more wounds than Richard could count. With a sob, he dropped to his knees, clutching his gut. The room spun and his stomach churned.

He had failed again.

XXX

“Derek!” 

The man now known as Derek Lloyd screamed his own name and sat up in the eerie light that comes just before the dawn. He panted heavily as sweat slowly dripped down his face and between his shoulder blades. Valiantly, his heart tried to beat itself out of his chest. Despite the heat, he felt frozen, as if his insides were made of ice.

As he sucked in air and forced himself to breathe, he began to realize he wasn't in a carpeted room leaning over the form of his best friend. Instead, he was sitting on a crude wooden bed in a dingy room with dusty windows. The person who had stayed there before him had drawn a smiley face in the window grime with his or her finger. As Derek stared at it, the dream began to recede. 

He scowled and got to his feet. Dressing quickly in the soft morning glow, he forced his mind onto the job ahead. He knew he had an important decision to make sometime in the next few hours.

Who would he betray?

On one side was the Agency he had freely given his life to, who had then, when he claimed to have nothing more to give, wrested away all he had left. They stood for lies, deceit, blackmail, and death. On the other was Sydney Fox. Well, both Sydney and her constant shadow, Nigel. They were two people that Derek had come to like a lot, and that didn't happen often to a man like him. There was something about them and what they stood for that reminded him of his lost childhood. Loyalty. Respect. Honesty and Integrity. Sydney had many of the qualities he had admired in his mother, qualities that he had sacrificed in himself the day that he joined the Central Intelligence Agency. His attitude towards Nigel was even more complicated. Nigel reminded him of the real Derek. They looked nothing alike and yet their search for knowledge and their gentle natures were the same.

“You don't have time to think about this,” Derek grumbled to himself. “You have a job to do. Whether it's for the Agency or for Sydney Fox, it doesn't matter.”

In his heart, he knew who was winning the battle for his loyalty.


End file.
